Ill  ill 


"ARDATH' 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DEAD   SELF 


BY 

MARIE  CORELL1 

AUTHOR  OF 
""HE  SOUL  OF  LILITH,"   "A  ROMANCE  OF  TWO  WORLDS,' 

"VENDETTA."    "THELMA, "    ''WORMWOOD,"  ETC. 


CHICAGO 

THE   HENNEBERRY   COMPANY 
554  WABASH  AVENUE 


PART    I. 
SAINT  AND  SKEPTIC. 

"What  merest  whim 
Seems  all  this  poor  endeavor  after  Fame 
To  one  who  keeps  within  his  steadfast  aim 
A  love  immortal,  an  immortal  too! 
Look  not  so  'wildered,    for  these  things  are  true, 
And  never  can  be  born  of  atomies 
That  buzz  about  our  slumbers  like  brain-flies, 
Leaving  us  fancy-sick.      No,  I  am  sure 
My  restless  spirit  never  could  endure 
To  brood  so  long  upon  one  luxury, 
Unless  it  did,  though  fearfully,  espy 
A  hope  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  dream!" 

KKATS. 


"ARDATH" 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE    MONASTERY. 

DEEP  in  the  heart  of  the  Caucasus  mountains  a  wild 
storm  was  gathering.  Drear  shadows  drooped  and  thick- 
ened above  the  Pass  of  Dariel,  that  terrific  gorge  which. 
like  a  mere  thread,  seems  to  hang  between  the  toppii*jj 
frost-bound  heights  above  and  the  black  abysmal  depths 
below;  clouds,  fringed  c  ninously  with  lurid  green  awd 
white,  drifted  heavily  yet  swiftly  across  the  jagged  peaks 
where,  looming  largely  out  of  the  mist,  the  snow-cap- 
ped crest  of  Mount  Kazbek  rose  coldly  white  against  the 
darkness  of  the  threatening  sky.  Night  was  approach- 
ing, though  away  to  the  west  a  broad  gash  of  crimson,  a 
seeming  wound  in  the  breast  of  heaven,  showed  where 
the  sun  had  set  an  hour  since.  Now  and  again  the  ris- 
ing wind  moaned  sobbingly  through  the  tall  and  spectral 
pines  that,  with  knotted  roots  fast  clenched  in  the  reluc- 
tant earth,  clung  tenaciously  to  their  stony  vantage- 
ground  ;  and  mingling  with  its  wailing  murmur,there  came 
a  distant  hoarse  roar  as  of  tumbling  torrents,  while  at 
far-off  intervals  could  be  heard  the  sweeping  thud  of  an 
avalanche  slipping  from  point  to  point  on  its  disastrous 
downward  way.  Through  the  wreathing  vapors  the  steep, 
bare  sides  of  the  near  mountains  were  pallidly  visible, 
their  icy  pinnacles,  like  uplifted  daggers,  piercing  with 
sharp  glitter  the  density  of  the  low-hanging  haze,  from 
which  large  drops  of  moisture  began  presently  to  ooze 
rather  than  fall.  Gradually  the  wind  increased,  and  soon 
with  sudden  fierce  gusts  shook  the  pine  trees  into  shud- 
dering anxiety  ;  the  red  slit  in  the  sky  closed,  and  a 
g]eam  of  forked  lightning  leaped  athwart  the  driving 
darkness.  An  appalling  crash  of  thunder  followed  al- 


8  "ARDATH" 

most  instantaneously,  its  deep  boom  vibrating  in  sullenly 
grand  echoes  on  all  sides  of  the  pass,  and  then,  with  a 
swirling,  hissing  rush  of  rain  the  unbound  hurricane  burst 
forth  alive  and  furious.  On,  on!  splitting  huge  boughs 
and  flinging  them  aside  like  straws,  swelling  the  rivers 
into  riotous  floods  that  swept  hither  and  thither,  carrying 
with  them  masses  of  rock  and  stone  and  tons  of  loosened 
snow;  on,  on!  with  pitiless  force  and  destructive  haste, 
the  tempest  rolled,  thundered,  and  shrieked  its  way 
through  Dariel.  As  the  night  darkened  and  the  clamor 
of  the  conflicting  elements  grew  more  sustained  and  vio- 
lent, a  sudden  sweet  sound  floated  softly  through  the 
turbulent  air,  the  slow,  measured  tolling  of  a  bell.  To 
and  fro,  to  and  fro,  the  silvery  chime  swung  with  mild 
distinctness;  it  was  the  vesper-bell  ringing  in  the  Mon- 
astery of  Lars,  far  up  among  the  crags  crowning  the  ra- 
vine. There  the  wind  roared  and  blustered  its  loudest; 
it  whirled  round  and  round  the  quaint  castellated  build- 
ing, battering  at  the  gates  and  moving  their  heavy  iron 
hinges  to  a  most  dolorous  groaning;  it  flung  rattling 
hailstones  at  the  narrow  windows,  and  raged  and  howled 
at  every  corner  and  through  every  crevice;  while  snaky 
twists  of  lightning  played  threateningly  over  the  tall  iron 
cross  that  surmounted  the  roof,  as  though  bent  on  strik- 
ing it  down  and  splitting  open  the  firm  old  walls  it 
guarded.  All  was  war  and  tumult  without,  but  within 
a  tranquil  peace  prevailed,  enhanced  by  the  grave  mur- 
mur of  organ  music;  men's  voices  mingling  together  in 
mellow  unison  chanted  the  Magnificat  and  the  uplifted, 
steady  harmony  ot  the  grand  old  anthem  rose  trium- 
phantly above  the  noise  of  the  storm.  The  monks  who 
inhabited  this  mountain  eyrie,  once  a  fortress,  now  a  re- 
ligious refuge,  were  assembled  in  their  little  chapel,  ? 
sort  of  grotto  roughly  hewn  out  of  the  natural  rock.  Fif- 
teen in  number,  they  stood  in  rows  of  three  abreast,  their 
white  woolen  robes  touching  the  ground,  their  white  cowls 
back,  and  their  dark  faces  and  flashing  eyes  turned  de- 
voutly toward  the  altar,  whereon  blazed  in  strange  and 
solitary  brilliancy  a  cross  of  fire.  At  the  first  glance  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  they  were  a  peculiar  community,de- 
voted  to  some  peculiar  form  of  worship,  for  their  cos- 
tume was  totally  different  in  character  and  detail  from 
any  such  as  are  worn  by  the  various  religious  fraternities 


THE  MONASTERY  9 

ol  the  Greek,  Roman,  or  Armenian  faith,  and  one  espe- 
cial feature  of  their  outward  appearance  served  as  a  dis- 
tinctly marked  sign  of  their  severance  from  all  known 
monastic  orders — this  was  the  absence  of  the  disfiguring 
tonsure.  They  were  all  fine-looking  men,  seemingly  in 
the  prime  of  life,  and  they  intoned  the  Magnificat  not 
drowsily  or  droningly,  but  with  a  rich  tunefulness  and 
warmth  of  utterance  that  stirred  to  a  faint  surprise  and 
contempt  the  jaded  spirit  of  one  reluctant  listener  pres- 
ent among  them.  This  was  a  stranger  who  had  arrived 
that  evening  at  the  Monastery,  and  who  intended  re- 
maining there  for  the  night — a  man  of  distinguished  and 
somewhat  haughty  bearing,  with  a  dark,  sorrowful,  poetic 
face,  chiefly  remarkable  for  its  mingled  expression  of 
dreamy  ardor  and  cold  scorn;  an  expression  such  as  the 
unknown  sculptor  of  Hadrian's  era  caught  and  fixed  in 
the  marble  of  his  ivy-crowned  Bacchus-Antinous,  whose 
half  sweet,  half-cruel  smile  suggests  a  perpetual  doubt 
of  all  things  and  all  men.  He  was  clad  in  the  rough- 
and-ready  garb  of  the  traveling  Englishman,  and  his 
athletic  figure,  in  its  plain-cut  modern  attire,  looked  curi- 
ously out  of  place  in  that  mysterious  grotto,  which,  with 
its  rocky  walls  and  flaming  symbol  of  salvation,  seemed 
suited  only  to  the  picturesque,  prophet-like  forms  of  the 
white  gowned  brethren  whom  now  he  surveyed,  as  he 
stood  behind  their  ranks,  with  a  gleam  of  something  like 
mockery  in  his  proud,  weary  eyes. 

"  What  sort  of  fellows  are  these?"  he  mused.  "Fools  or 
knaves?  They  must  be  one  or  the  other,  else  they  would 
not  thus  chant  praises  of  a  Deity  of  whose  existence  there 
is,  and  can  be,  no  proof.  It  is  either  sheer  ignorance 
or  hypocrisy,  or  both  combined.  I  can  pardon  ignorance, 
but  not  hypocrisy,  for  however  dreary  the  results  of  Truth, 
yet  Truth  alone  prevails ;  its  killing  bolt  destroys  the 
illusive  beauty  of  the  universe,  but  what  then?  Is  it 
not  better  so  than  that  the  universe  should  continue  to 
seem  beautiful  only  through  the  medium  of  a  lie?" 

His  straight  brows  drew  together  in  a  puzzled  frown- 
ing line  as  he  asked  himself  this  question,  and  he  moved 
restlessly.  He  was  becoming  impatient;  the  chanting 
of  the  monks  grew  monotonous  to  his  ears;  the  lighted 
crocs  on  the  altar  dazzled  him  with  its  glare.  Moreover, 
he  disliked  all  forms  of  religious  service;  though  as  a 


10  "ARDATH* 

lover  of  classic  lore  it  is  probable  he  would  have  wit- 
nessed a  celebration  in  honor  of  Apollo  or  Diana  with 
the  liveliest  interest.  But  the  very  name  of  Christianity 
was  obnoxious  to  him.  Like  Shelley,  he  considered  that 
creed  a  vulgar  and  barbarous  superstition.  Like  Shel- 
ley, he  inquired:  "If  God  has  spoken,  why  is  the  world 
not  convinced?"  He  began  to  wish  h'e  had  never  set  foot 
inside  this  abode  of  what  he  deemed  a  pretended  sanc- 
tity, although,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  a  special  pur- 
pose of  his  own  in  visiting  the  place — a  purpose  so  utterly 
at  variance  with  the  professed  tenets  of  his  present 
life  and  character  that  the  mere  thought  of  it  secretly 
irritated  him,  even  while  he  was  determined  to  accom- 
plish it.  As  yet  he  had  only  made  acquaintance  with 
two  of  the  monks,  courteous,  good-humored  personages, 
who  had  received  him  on  his  arrival  with  the  customary 
hospitality  which  it  was  the  rule  of  the  monastery  to 
afford  to  all  belated  wayfarers  journeying  across  the 
perilous  Pass  of  Dariel.  They  had  asked  him  no  ques- 
tions as  to  his  name  or  nation;  they  had  simply  seen  in 
him  a  stranger  overtaken  by  the  storm  and  in  need  of 
shelter,  and  had  entertained  him  accordingly.  They  had 
conducted  him  to  the  refectory,  where  a  well-piled  log 
fire  was  cheerfully  blazing,  and  there  had  set  before  him 
an  excellent  supper,  flavored  with  equally  excellent  wine. 
He  had,  however,  scarcely  begun  to  converse  with  them 
when  the  vesper-bell  had  rung,  and,  obedient  to  its  sum- 
mons, they  had  hurried  away,  leaving  him  to  enjoy  his 
repast  in  solitude.  When  he  had  finished  it,  he  had 
sat  for  a  while  dreamily  listening  to  the  solemn  strains 
of  the  organ,  which  penetrated  to  every  part  of  the  build- 
ing, and  then,  moved  by  a  vague  curiosity  to  see  how 
many  men  there  were  dwelling  thus  together  in  this  lonely 
retreat,  perched  like  an  eagle's  nest  among  the  frozen 
heights  of  Caucasus,  he  had  managed  to  find  his  way, 
guided  by  the  sound  of  the  music,  through  various  long 
corridors  and  narrow,  twisting  passages,  into  the  cavern- 
ous grot  where  he  now  stood  feeling  infinitely  bored  and 
listlessly  dissatisfied.  His  primary  object  in  entering 
the  chapel  had  been  to  get  a  good  full  view  of  the  monks, 
and  of  their  faces  especially;  but  at  present  this  was  im- 
possible, as  from  the  position  he  was  obliged  to  occupy 
behind  them  their  backs  alone  were  visible. 


YH1  MONASTERY  II 

'"And  who  knows,"  he  thought  moodily,  "how  long 
they  will  go  on  intoning  their  dreary  -Latin  doggerel? 
Priestcraft  and  sham !  There's  no  escape  from  it  anjr- 
where,  not  even  in  the  wilds  of  Caucasus!  I  wonder 
if  the  man  I  seek  is  really  here,  or  whether  after  all  1 
have  been  misled.  There  are  so  many  contradictory 
stories  told  about  him  that  one  doesn't  know  what  to  be- 
lieve. It  seems  incredible  that  he  should  be  a  monk; 
it  is  such  an  altogether  foolish  ending  to  an  intellectual 
career.  For  whatever  may  be  the  form  of  faith  professed 
by  this  particular  fraternity,  the  absurdity  of  the  whole 
system  of  religion  remains  the  same.  Religion's  day  is 
done ;  the  very  sense  of  worship  is  a  mere  coward  in- 
stinct, a  relic  of  barbarism  which  is  being  gradually 
eradicated  from  our  natures  by  the  progress  of  civiliza- 
tion. The  world  knows  by  this  time  that  creation  is  an 
empty  jest;  we  are  all  beginning  to  understand  its  bathos! 
And  if  we  must  grant  that  there  is  some  mischievous  su- 
preme Farceur  who,  safely  shrouded  in  invisibility,  con- 
tinues to  perpetrate  so  poor  and  purposeless  a  joke  for 
his  own  amusement  and  our  torture,  we  need  not,  for 
that  matter,  admire  his  wit  nor  flatter  his  ingenuity! 
For  life  is  nothing  but  vexation  and  suffering.  Are  we 
dogs,  that  we  should  lick  the  hand  that  crushes  us?" 

At  that  moment  the  chanting  suddenly  ceased.  The 
organ  went  on,  as  though  musically  meditating  to  itself 
in  minor  chords,  through  which  soft  upper  notes,  like 
touches  of  light  on  a  dark  landscape,  flickered  ripplingly. 
One  monk  separated  himself  from  the  clustered  group, 
and,  stepping  slowly  up  to  the  altar,  confronted  the  rest 
of  his  brethren.  The  fiery  cross  shone  radiantly  behind 
him,  its  beams  seeming  to  gather  in  a  lustrous  halo 
round  his  tall,  majestic  figure;  his  countenance,  fully 
illumined  and  clearly  visible,  was  one  never  to  be  for- 
gotten for  the  striking  force,  sweetness  and  dignity  ex- 
pressed in  its  every  feature.  The  veriest  scoffer  that 
ever  made  mock  of  fine  beliefs  and  fair  virtues  must  have 
been  momentarily  awed  and  silenced  in  the  presence  of 
such  a  man  as  this — a  man  upon  whom  the  grace  ol  » 
perfect  life  seemed  to  have  fallen  like  a  royal  robe,  in- 
vesting even  his  outward  appearance  with  spiritual  au- 
thority and  grandeur.  At  sight  of  him,  the  stranger's 
indifferent  air  rapidly  changed  to  one  of  eager  interest. 


If  "ARDATH* 

Leaning  forward,  he  regarded  him  intently  with  a  look 
of  mingled  astonishment  and  unwilling  admiration.  The 
monk  meanwhile  extended  his  hands  as  though  in  bless 
ing,  and  spoke  aloud,  his  Latin  words  echoing  through 
the  rocky  temple  with  the  measured  utterance  of  poetical 
rhythm.  Translated  they  ran  thus: 

"Glory  to  God,  the  Most  High,  the  Supreme  and  Eternal!" 

And  with  one  harmonious  murmur  of  accord  the  breth- 
ren responded: 

"Glory for  ever  and  evert    Amen!" 

"Glory  to  God,  the  Ruler  of  Spirits  and  Master  of  Angels!' 

"Glory/or  ever  and  ever!    Amen!" 

"Glory  to  God  who  in  love  never  wearies  of  loving!" 

"Glory  for  eve r  and  ever!    Anie>i  >' ' 

"Glory  to  God  in  the  Name  of  His  Christ  our  Redeemer!" 

"Glory  for  ever  and  ever!     Amen.'" 

"Glory  to  God  for  the  joys  of  the  Past,  the  Present  and  Future!" 

"Glory for  ever  and  ever!    Amen ."' 
"Glory  to  God  for  the  Power  of  Will  and  the  working  of  Wisdom!" 

' '  Glory  far  ever  and  ever!    Amen  /' ' 

"Glory  to  God  for  the  briefness  of  life,  the  gladness  of  death,  and  the 
promised  Immortal  Hereafter!" 
"Glory  for  ever  and  ever!    Amen!" 

Then  came  a  pause,  during  which  the  thunder  outside 
added  a  tumultuous  Gloria  of  its  own  to  those  already 
recited  ;  the  organ  died  away  into  silence,  and  the  monk, 
now  turning  so  that  he  faced  the  altar,  sank  reverently 
on  his  knees.  All  present  followed  his  example,  with 
the  exception  of  the  stranger,  who,  as  if  in  deliberate 
defiance,  drew  himself  resolutely  up  to  his  full  height, 
and,  folding  his  arms,  gazed  at  the  scene  before  him 
with  a  perfectly  unmoved  demeanor.  He  expected  to 
hear  some  long  prayer,  but  none  came.  There  was  an  ab- 
solute stillness,  unbroken  save  by  the  rattle  of  the 
raindrops  against  the  high  oriel  window,  and  the  whist- 
ling rush  of  the  wind.  And  as  he  looked,  the  fiery  cross 
began  to  grow  dim  and  pale,  little  by  little,  its  scintillat- 
ing luster  decreased,  till  at  last  it  disappeared  alto- 
gether, leaving  no  trace  of  its  former  brilliancy  but  a 
small,  bright  flame  that  gradually  took  the  shape  of  a 
seven-pointed  star  which  sparkled  through  the  gloom 
like  a  suspended  ruby.  The  chapel  was  left  almost  in 
complete  darkness;  he  could  scarcely  discern  even  the 
white  figures  of  the  kneeling  worshipers.  A  haunting 
sense  of  the  supernatural  seemed  to  permeate  that  deep 


THE  JUONASTXKT  13 

hush  and  dense  shadow,  and  notwithstanding  his  habit- 
ual tendency  to  despise  all  religious  ceremonies,  there 
was  something  novel  and  strange  about  this  one  which 
exercised  a  peculiar  influence  upon  his  imagination.  A 
sudden  cold  fancy  possessed  him  that  there  were  others 
present  besides  himself  and  the  brethren,  but  who  these 
"others"  were,  he  could  not  determine.  It  was  an  alto- 
gether uncanny,  uncomfortable  impression;  yet  it  was 
very  strong  upon  him,  and  he  breathed  a  sigh  of  intense 
relief  when  he  heard  the  soft  melody  of  the  organ  once 
more,  and  saw  the  oaken  doors  of  the  grotto  swing  wide 
open  to  admit  a  flood  of  cheerful  light  from  the  outer 
passage.  The  vespers  were  over,  the  monks  rose  and 
paced  forth  two  by  two,  not  with  bent  heads  and  down- 
cast eyes  as  though  affecting  an  abased  humility,  but 
with  the  free  and  stately  bearing  of  kings  returning  from 
some  high  conquest.  Drawing  a  little  further  back  into 
his  retired  corner,  he  watched  them  pass,  and  was  forced 
to  admit  to  himself  that  he  had  seldom  or  never  seen 
finer  types  of  splendid,  healthful,  and  vigorous  manhood 
at  its  best  and  brightest.  As  noble  specimens  of  the 
human  race  alone,  they  were  well  worth  looking  at;  they 
might  have  been  warriors,  princes,  emperors,  he  thought 
— anything  but  monks.  Yet  monks  they  were,  and  fol- 
lowers of  the  Christian  creed  he  so  specially  condemned, 
for  each  one  wore  on  his  breast  a  massive  golden  cruci- 
fix, hung  to  a  chain  and  fastened  with  a  jeweled  star. 

"Cross  and  star!"  he  mused,  as  he  noticed  this  brilliant 
and  singular  decoration,  "an  emblem  of  the  fraternity, 
I  suppose,  meaning — what?  Salvation  and  immortality? 
Alas,  they  are  poor,  witless  builders  on  shifting  sand  if 
they  place  any  hope  or  reliance  on  those  two  empty 
words,  signifying  nothing!  Do  they,  can  they  honestly 
believe  in  God,  I  wonder?  or  are  they  only  acting  the 
usual  worn-out  comedy  of  a  feigned  faith?" 

And  he  eyed  them  somewhat  wistfully  as  their  white- 
apparelled  figures  went  by.  Ten  had  already  left  the 
chapel ;  two  more  passed,  then  other  two,  and  last  of 
all  came  one  alone — one  who  walked  slowly,  with  a 
dreamy,  meditative  air,  as  though  he  were  deeply  ab- 
sorbed in  thought.  The  light  from  the  open  door  streamed 
fully  upon  him  as  he  advanced;  it  was  the  monk  who 
had  recited  the  seven  Glorias.  The  stranger  no  sooner 


14  ^ARDATH* 

beheld  him  than  he  instantly  stepped  forward  and  touched 
him  on  the  arm. 

"Pardon!"  he  said  hastily  in  English,  "I  think  I  am 
not  mistaken;  your  name  is,  or  used  to  be,  Heliobas?" 

The  monk  bent  his  handsome  head  in  a  slight  yet 
graceful  salutation,  and  smiled. 

"I  have  not  changed  it,"  he  replied.  "I  am  Heliobas 
still."  And  his  keen,  steadfast  blue  eyes  rested  half  in- 
quiringly, half-compassionately,  on  the  dark,  weary, 
troubled  face  of  his  questioner,  who,  avoiding  his  direct 
gaze,  continued: 

"I  should  like  to  speak  to  you  in  private.  Can  I  do 
so  now — to  night — at  once?" 

"By  all  means!"  assented  the  monk,  showing  no  sur- 
prise at  the  request.  "Follow  me  to  the  library;  we 
shall  be  quite  alone  there." 

He  led  the  way  immediately  out  of  the  chapel,  and 
through  a  stone- paved  vestibule,  where  they  were  met 
by  the  two  brethren  who  had  first  received  and  enter- 
tained the  unknown  guest,  and  who,  not  finding  him  in 
the  refectory  Where  they  had  left  him,  were  now  coming 
in  search  of  him.  On  seeing  in  whose  company  he  was, 
however,  they  drew  aside  with  a  deep  and  reverential 
obeisance  to  the  personage  called  Heliobas;  he,  silently 
acknowledging  it,  passed  on,  closely  attended  by  the 
stranger,  till  he  reached  a  spacious,  well  lighted  apart- 
ment, the  walls  of  which  were  entirely  lined  with  books. 
Here,  entering  and  closing  the  door,  he  turned  and  con- 
fronted his  visitor,  his  tall,  imposing  figure  in  its  trailing 
white  garments  calling  to  mind  the  picture  of  some  saint 
or  evangelist,  and  with  grave  yet  kindly  courtesy,  said: 

"Now,  my  friend,  I  am  at  your  disposal.  In  what  way 
can  Heliobas,  who  is  dead  to  the  world,  serve  one  for 
whom  surely  as  yet  the  world  is  everything?" 


CHAPTER  II. 

CONFESSION. 

His  question  was  not    very  promptly    answered.     The 
Stranger   stood  still,  regarding   him   intently  for   two  or 


CONFESSION  15 

three  minutes  with  a  look  of  peculiar  pensiveness  and 
abstraction,  the  heavy  double  fringe  of  his  long,  dark 
lashes  giving  an  almost  drowsy  pathos  to  his  proud  and 
earnest  eyes.  Soon,  however,  his  absorbed  expression 
changed  to  one  of  somber  scorn. 

"The  world!"  he  said  slowly  and  bitterly.  "You  think 
I  care  for  the  world?  Then  you  read  me  wrongly  at  the 
very  outset  of  our  interview,  and  your  once  reputed  skill 
as  a  seer  goes  for  naught.  To  me  the  world  is  a  grave- 
yard full  of  dead  worm-eaten  things,  and  its  imaginary 
Creator,  whom  you  have  so  be-praised  in  your  orisons 
to-night,  is  the  sexton  who  entombs,  and  the  ghoul  who 
devours  his  own  hapless  creation!  I  myself  am  one  of 
the  tortured  and  dying,  and  I  have  sought  you,  simply 
that  you  may  trick  me  into  a  brief  oblivion  of  my  doom, 
and  mock  me  with  the  mirage  of  a  life  that  is  not,  and 
can  never  be!  How  can  you  serve  me?  Give  me  a  few 
hours'  respite  from  wretchedness!  that  is  all  I  ask!" 

As  he  spoke  his  face  grew  blanched  and  haggard,  as 
though  he  suffered  from  some  painfully  repressed  inward 
agony.  The  monk  Heliobas  heard  him  with  an  air  of 
attentive  patience,  but  said  nothing ;  he,  therefore,  after 
waiting  for  a  reply  and  receiving  none,  went  on  in  colder 
and  more  even  tones  : 

"I  dare  say  my  words  seem  strange  to  you,  though  they 
should  not  do  so,  if,  as  reported,  you  have  studied  all 
the  varying  phases  of  that  purely  intellectual  despair 
which,  in  this  age  of  excessive  over-culture,  crushes  men 
who  learn  too  much  and  think  too  deeply.  But  before 
going  further  I  had  better  introduce  myself.  My  name 
is  Alwyn — " 

"Theos  Alwyn,  the  English  author,  I  presume?"  inter- 
posed the  monk  interrogatively. 

"Why,  yes!"  this  in  accents  of  extreme  surprise.  "How 
did  you  know  that?" 

"Your  celebrity,"  politely  suggested  Heliobas,  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand  and  an  enigmatical  smile  that  might 
have  meant  anything  or  nothing. 

Alwyn  colored  a  little.  "You  mistake,"  he  said  indif- 
ferently, "I  have  no  celebrity.  The  celebrities  of  my 
country  are  few,  and  among  them,  those  most  admired 
are  jockeys  and  divorced  women!  I  merely  follow  in 
the  rear-line  of  the  art  or  profession  of  literature;  I  am 


i 6  "ARDATH" 

that  always  unluckiest  and  most  undesirable  kind  of  an 
author,  a  writer  of  verse.  I  lay  no  claim,  not  now  at  any 
rate,  to  the  title  of  poet.  While  recently  staying  in  Paris 
I  chanced  to  hear  of  you — " 

The  monk  bowed  ever  so  slightly;  there  was  a  dawn- 
ing gleam  of  satire  in  his  brilliant  eyes. 

"You  won  special  distinction  and  renown  there,  I  be- 
lieve, before  you  adopted  this  monastic  life?"  pursued 
Alwyn,  glancing  at  him  curiously. 

"Did  I?"  and  Heliobas  looked    cheerfully    interested. 

"Really  I  was  not  aware  of  it,  I  assure  you!  Possibly 
my  ways  and  doings  may  have  occasionally  furnished  the 
Parisians  with  something  to  talk  about  instead  of  the 
weather,  and  I  know  I  made  some  few  friends  and  an 
astonishing  number  of  enemies,  if  that  is  what  you  mean 
by  distinction  and  renown!" 

Alwyn  smiled — his  smile  was  always  reluctant,  and 
had  in  it  more  of  sadness  than  sweetness;  yet  it  gave  his 
features  a  singular  softness  and  beauty;  just  a  ray  of 
sunlight  falling  on  a  dark  picture  will  brighten  the  tints 
into  a  momentary  warmth  of  seeming  life. 

"All  reputation  means  that,  I  think,"  he  said,  "unless 
it  be  mediocre;  then  one  is  safe;  one  has  scores  of  friends, 
and  scarce  a  foe.  Mediocrity  succeeds  wonderfully  well 
nowadays;  nobody  hates  it,  because  everyone  feels  how 
easily  they  themselves  can  attain  to  it.  Exceptional  talent 
is  aggressive;  actual  genius  is  offensive;  people  are  in- 
sulted to  have  a  thing  held  up  for  their  admiration 
which  is  entirely  out  of  their  reach.  They  become  like 
bears  climbing  a  greased  pole;  they  see  a  great  name 
above  them — a  tempting,  sugary  morsel  which  they  would 
fain  snatch  and  devour — and  when  their  uncouth  efforts 
fai.l,  they  huddle  together  on  the  ground  beneath,  look 
up  with  dull,  peering  eyes,  and  impotently  snarl !  But 
you — "  and  here  his  gaze  rested  doubtfully,  yet  question- 
ingly,  on  his  companion's  open, serene  countenance,  "you, 
if  rumor  speaks  truly,  should  have  been  able  to  tame 
your  bears,  and  turn  them  into  dogs,  humble  and  couch- 
ant.  Your  marvelous  achievements  as  a  mesmerist — " 

"Excuse  me,"  interrupted  Heliobas  quietly,  "I  never 
was  a  mesmerist." 

"Well,  as  a  spiritualist,  then;  though  I  cannot  admit 
the  existence  of  any  such  thing  as  spiritualism." 


CONFESSION  17 

"Neither  can  I,"  returned  Heliobas,  with  perfect  good- 
humor,  "according  to  the  generally  accepted  meaning  of 
the  term.  Pray  go  on,  Mr.  Alwyn." 

Alwyn  looked  at  him,  a  little  puzzled  and  uncertain 
how  to  proceed.  A  curious  sense  of  irritation  was  grow- 
ing up  in  his  mind  against  this  monk  with  the  grand  head 
and  Hashing  eyes — eyes  that  seemed  to  strip  bare  his  in- 
nermost thoughts,  as  lightning  strips  bark  from  a  tree. 

"I  was  told,"  he  continued  after  a  pause,  during  which 
he  had  apparently  considered  and  prepared  his  words, 
"that  you  were  chiefly  known  in  Paris  as  being  the  pos- 
sessor of  some  mysterious  internal  force — call  it  magnetic, 
hypnotic,  or  spiritual,  as  you  please — which,  though 
perfectly  inexplicable,  was  yet  plainly  manifested  and 
evident  to  all  who  placed  themselves  under  your  influence. 
Moreover,  that  by  this  force  you  were  able  to  deal  scientif- 
ically and  practically  with  the  active  principle  of  intelli- 
gence in  man,  to  such  an  extent  that  you  could,  in  some 
miraculous  way,  disentangle  the  knots  of  toil  and  perplex- 
ity in  an  over  taxed  brain,  and  restore  to  it  its  pristine 
vitality  and  vigor.  Is  this  true?  If  so,  exert  your  power 
upon  me,  for  something,  I  know  not  what,  has  of  late 
frozen  up  the  once  overflowing  fountain  of  my  thoughts, 
and  I  have  lost  all  working  ability.  When  a  man  can 
no  longer  work,  it  were  best  he  should  die,  only  unfortu 
nately  I  cannot  die  unless  I  kill  myself,  which  it  is  pos- 
sible I  may  do  ere  long.  But  in  the  meantime" — he  hes- 
itated a  moment,  then  went  on,  "in  the  meantime,  I  have 
a  strong  wish  to  be  deluded — I  use  the  word  advisedly., 
and  repeat  it — deluded  into  an  imaginary  happiness, 
though  I  am  aware  that  as  an  agnostic  and  searcher  after 
truth — truth  absolute,  truth  positive — such  a  desire  on 
my  part  seems  even  to  myself  inconsistent  and  unreason- 
able. Still  I  confess  to  having  it;  and  therein  I  know 
I  betray  the  weakness  of  my  nature.  It  may  be  that  I 
am  tired,"  and  he  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow  with 
a  troubled  gesture,  "or  puzzled  by  the  infinite,  incurable 
distress  of  all  living  things.  Perhaps  I  am  growing  mad! 
who  knows?  but  whatever  my  condition,  you,  if  report 
be  correct,  have  the  magic  skill  to  ravish  the  mind  away 
from  its  troubles,  and  transport  it  to  a  radiant  Elysium 
of  sweet  illusions  and  ethereal  ecstasies.  Do  this  for 
me,  as  you  have  done  it  for  others;  and  whatever  pay- 


t8  "ARDATH" 

ment  you  demand,  whether  in  gold  or  gratitude,  shall  be 
yours. '" 

He  ceased  ;  the  wind  howled  furiously  outside,  flinging 
gusty  dashes  of  rain  against  the  one  window  of  the  room, 
a  tall  arched  casement  that  clattered  noisily  with  every 
blow  inflicted  upon  it  by  the  storm.  Heliobas  gave  him  a 
swrtt,  searching  glance,  half  pitying,  half  disdainful. 

"Haschisch  or  opium  should  serve  your  turn,"  he  said 
curtly.  "I  know  of  no  other  means  whereby  to  tempora- 
rily still  the  clamorings  of  conscience." 

Alwyn  flushed  darkly.  "Conscience?"  he  began  in 
rather  a  resentful  tone. 

"Ay,  conscience,"  repeated  HeJ/obas  firmly.  "There 
is  such  a  thing.  Do  you  profess  to  be  wholly  without 
it?" 

Alwyn  deigned  no  reply;  the  ironical  bluntness  of  the 
question  annoyed  him. 

"You  have  formed  a'  very  unjust  opinion  of  me,  Mr. 
Alwyn,"  continued  Heliobas,  "an  opinion  which  neither 
honors  your  courtesy  nor  your  intellect — pardon  me  for 
saying  so.  You  ask  me  to  'mock'  and  'delude'  you,  as 
if  it  were  my  custom  and  delight  to  make  dupes  of  my 
suffering  fellow-creatures.  You  come  to  me  as  though  I 
were  a  mesmerist  or  magnetizer  such  as  you  can  hire  for 
a  few  guineas  in  any  civilized  city  in  Europe;  nay,  I 
doubt  not  but  that  you  consider  me  that  kind  of  so-called 
'spiritualist'  whose  enlightened  intelligence  and  heaven- 
aspiring  aims  are  demonstrated  in  the  turning  of  tables 
and  general  furniture  gyration.  .1  am,  however,  hope- 
lessly deficient  in  such  knowledge.  I  should  make  a 
most  unsatisfactory  conjurer.  Moreover,  whatever  you 
may  have  heard  concerning  me  in  Paris,  you  must  re- 
member I  am  in  Paris  no  longer.  I  am  a  monk,  as  you 
:see,  devoted  to  my  vocation;  I  am  completely  severed 
from -the  world,  and  my  ditties  and  occupations  in  the 
present  are  widely  different  from  those  which  employed 
me  in  the  past.  Then,  I  gave  what  aid  I  could  to  those 
who  honestly  needed  it  and  sought  it  without  prejudice  or 
personal  distrust;  but  now  my  work  among  men  is  fin- 
ished, and  I  practice  my  science,  such  as  it  is,  on  others 
no  more,  except  in  very  rare  and  special  cases." 

Alwyn  heard,  and  the  lines  of  his  face  hardened  into 
an  expression  of  rigid  hauteur. 


CONFESSION  ig 

"I  suppose  I  am  to  understand  by  this    that    you  will 

do  nothing  for  me?"  he  said  stiffly. 

"Why,  what  can  I  do?"  returned  Heliobas,  smiling  a 
little.  "All  you  want — so  you  say — is  a  brief  forgetful- 
ness  of  your  troubles.  Well,  that  is  easily  obtainable 
through  certain  narcotics,  if  you  choose  to  employ  them 
and  take  the  risk  of  their  injurious  action  on  your  bod- 
ily system.  You  can  drug  your  brain  and  thereby  fill  it 
with  drowsy  suggestions  of  ideas;  of  course,  they  would 
only  be  suggestions,  and  very  vague  and  indefinite  ones 
too;  still  they  might  be  pleasant  enough  to  absorb  and 
repress  bitter  memories  for  a  time.  As  for  me,  my  poor 
skill  would  scarcely  avail  you,  as  I  could  promise  you 
neither  self-oblivion  nor  visionary  joy.  I  have  a  cer- 
tain internal  force,  it  is  true — a  spiritual  force  which, 
when  strongly  exercised,  overpowers  and  subdues  the 
material,  and  by  exerting  this  I  could,  if  I  thought  it 
well  to  do  so,  release  your  Soul — that  is,  the  Inner  In- 
telligent Spirit  which  is  the  actual  You — from  its  house 
of  clay,  and  allow  it  an  interval  of  freedom.  But  what 
its  experience  might  be  in  that  unfettered  condition, 
whether  glad  or  sorrowful,  I  am  totally  unable  to  pre- 
dict." 

Ahvyn  looked  at  him  steadfastly. 

"You  believe  in  the  soul?"  he  asked. 

"Most  certainly." 

"As  a  separate  personality  that  continues  to  live  on 
when  the  body  perishes?" 

"Assuredly." 

"And  you  profess  to  be  able  to  liberate  it  for  a  time 
from  its  mortal  habitation — " 

"I  do  not  profess,"  interposed  Heliobas  quietly;  "I 
can  do  so. " 

"But  with  the  success  of  the  experiment  your  power 
ceases?  You  cannot  foretell  whether  the  unimprisoned 
creature  will  take  its  course  to  an  inferno  of  suffering  or 
a  heaven  oj  delight?  Is  this  what  you  mean?" 

Heliobas  bent  his  head  in  grave  assent. 

Alwyn  broke  into  a  harsh  laugh.  "Come  then!"  he 
exclaimed  with  a  reckless  air,  "begin  your  incantations 
at  once!  Ssnd  me  hence,  no  matter  where,  so  long  as 
I  am  for  a  while  escaped  from  this  den  of  a  world,  this 
dungeon  with  one  small  window  through  which,  with  th? 


ao  "ARDATH" 

death-rattle  in  our  throats,  we  stare  vacantly  at  the 
blank,  unmeaning  horror  Oi  the  universe!  Prove  to  me 
that  the  soul  exists — ye  gods!  prove  it!  and  if  mine 
can  find  its  way  straight  to  the  mainspring  of  this  re- 
volving creation,  it  shall  cling  to  the  accursed  wheels  and 
stop  them,  that  they  may  grind  out  the  tortures  of  life 
no  more  !" 

He  flung  up  his  hand  with  a  wild  gesture:  his  counte- 
nance, darkly  threatening  and  defiant,  was  yet  beautiful 
with  the  evil  beauty  of  a  rebellious  and  fallen  angel. 
His  breath  came  and  went  quickly;  he  seemed  to  chal- 
lenge some  invisible  opponent.  Heliobas  meanwhile 
watched  him  much  as  a  physician  might  watch  in  his 
patient  the  workings  of  a  new  disease;  then  he  said  in 
purposely  cold  and  tranquil  tones: 

"A  bold  idea!  Singularly  blasphemous,  arrogant,  and — 
fortunately  for  us  all — impracticable!  Allow  me  to  re- 
mark that  you  are  over-excited,  Mr.  Alwyn ;  you  talk  as 
madmen  may,  but  as  reasonable  men  should  not.  Come," 
and  he  smiled — a  smile  that  was  both  grave  and  sweet, 
"come  and  sit  down;  you  are  worn  out  with  the  force  of 
your  own  desperate  emotions;  rest  a  few  minutes  and  re- 
cover yourself." 

His  voice,  though  gentle,  was  distinctly  authoritative, 
and  Alwyn,  meeting  the  full  gaze  of  his  calm  eyes,  felt 
bound  to  obey  the  implied  command.  He  therefore 
sank  listlessly  into  an  easy-chair  near  the  table,  pushing 
back  the  short,  thick  curls  from  his  brow  with  a  wearied 
movement;  he  was  very  pale,  an  uneas)'  sense  of  shame 
was  upon  him,  and  he  sighed — a  quick  sigh  of  exhausted 
passion.  Heliobas  seated  himself  opposite  and  looked 
at  him  earnestly;  he  studied  with  sympathetic  attention 
the  lines  of  dejection  and  fatigue  which  marred  the  at- 
tractiveness of  features  otherwise  frank,  poetic  and 
noble.  He  had  seen  many  such  men.  Men  in  their 
prime  who  had  begun  life  full  of  high  faith,  hope,  and 
lofty  aspiration,  yet  whose  fair  ideals,  once  bruised  in 
the  mortar  of  modern  atheistical  opinion,  had  perished 
forever,  while  they  themselves,  like  golden  eagles  sud- 
denly and  cruelly  shot  while  flying  in  mid-air,  had  fallen 
helplessly,  broken-winged,  among  the  dust  heaps  of  the 
world,  never  to  rise  and  soar  sunward  again.  Thinking 
this,  his  accents  were  touched  with  a  certain  compas- 
sion when,  after  a  pause,  he  said  softly: 


CONFESSION  21 

"Poor  boy!  poor,  puzzled,  tired  brain  that  would  fain 
judge  Infinity  by  merely  finite  perception!  You  were  a 
far  truer  poet,  Theos  Alwyn,  when  as  a  world-foolish, 
heaven  inspired  lad  you  believed  in  God,  and,  therefore, 
in  godlike  gladness,  found  all  things  good." 

Alwyn  looked  up;  his  lips  quivered. 

"Poet — poet!"  he  murmured.  "Why  taunt  me  with 
the  name?"  He  started  upright  in  his  chair.  "Let  me 
tell  you  all,"  he  said  suddenly,  "you  may  as  well  know 
what  his  made  me  the  useless  wreck  I  am;  though  per- 
haps I  shall  only  weary  you." 

"Far  from  it,"  answered  Heliobas  gently.  "Speak 
freely;  but  remember  I  do  not  compel  your  confidence." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  think  you  do!"  and  again  that 
faint,  half -mournful  smile  shone  for  an  instant  in  his 
deep,  dark  eyes,  "though  you  may  not  be  conscious  of  it. 
Anyhow,  I  fesl  impelled  to  unburden  my  heart  to  you: 
I  have  kept  silence  so  long.  You  know  what  it  is  in  the 
world,  one  must  always  keep  silence;  always  shut  in 
one's  grief  and  force  a  smile,  in  company  with  the  rest 
of  the  tormented  forced-smiling  crowd  We  can  never 
be  ourselves — our  veritable  selves — for  if  we  were,  the 
air  would  resound  with  our  ceaseless  lamentations.  It 
is  horrible  to  think  of  all  the  pent-up  sufferings  of  hu 
manity — all  the  inconceivably  hideous  agonies  that  re- 
main forever  dumb  and  unrevealed.  When  I  was  young  — 
how  long  ago  that  seems!  yes,  though  my  actual  years 
are  but  thirty,  I  feel  an  alder-elde  of  accumulated  cen- 
turies upon  me — when  I  was  young,  the  dream  of  my 
life  was  Poesy.  Perhaps  I  inherited  the  fatal  love  of 
it  from  my  mother;  she  was  a  Greek,  and  she  had  a  sub- 
tle music  in  her  that  nothing  could  quell,  not  even  my 
father's  English  coldness.  She  named  me  Theos,  little 
guessing  what  a  dreary  sarcasm  that  name  would  prove. 
It  was  well,  I  think,  that  she  died  early." 

"Well  for  her,  but  perhaps  not  so  well  for  you,"  said 
Heliobas,  with  a  keen,  kindly  glance  at  him. 

Alwyn  sighed.  "Nay,  well  for  us  both,  for  I  should 
have  chafed  at  her  loving  restraint,  and  she  would  un- 
questionably have  been  disappointed  in  me.  My  father 
was  a  conscientious,  methodical  business  man,  who  spent 
all  his  days  up  to  almost  the  last  moment  of  his  life  in 
amassing  money,  though  it  never  gave  him  any  joy  so  far 


*a  "ARDATH" 

as  I  could  see,  and  when  at  his  death  I  became  sole  pos- 
sessor of  his  hardly-earned  fortune  I  felt  far  more  sorrow 
than  satisfaction.  I  wished  he  had  spent  his  gold  on 
himself  and  left  me  poor,  for  it  seemed  to  me  I  had  need 
for  nothing  save  the  little  I  earned  by  my  pen.  I  was 
content  to  live  like  an  anchorite  and  dine  off  a  crust  for 
the  sake  of  the  divine  Muse  I  worshiped.  Fate,  how- 
ever, willed  it  otherwise,  and  though  I  scarcely  cared 
for  the  wealth  I  inherited,  it  gave  me  at  least  one  bless- 
ing — that  of  perfect  independence.  I  was  free  to  follow 
my  own  chosen  vocation,  and  for  a  brief  wondering  while 
I  deemed  myself  happy — happy  as  Keats  must  have  been 
when  the  fragment  of  'Hyperion'  broke  from  his  frail 
life  as  thunder  breaks  from  a  summer  cloud.  I  was  as 
a  monarch  swaying  a  scepter  that  commanded  both  earth 
and  heaven  ;  a  kingdom  was  mine — a  kingdom  of  golden 
ether,  peopled  with  shining  shapes  Protean;  alas!  its 
fates  are  shut  upon  me  now,  and  I  shall  enter  it  no 
more!" 

"'No  more'  is  a  long  time,  my  friend!"  interposed 
Heliobas  gently.  "You  are  too  despondent,  perchance 
too  diffident,  concerning  your  own  ability." 

"Ability!"  and  he  laughed  wearily.  "I  have  none;  I 
am  as  weak  and  inapt  as  an  untaught  child;  the  music 
of  my  heart  is  silenced.  Yet  there  is  nothing  I  would 
not  do  to  regain  the  ravishment  of  the  past — when  the 
sight  of  the  sunset  across  the  hills,  or  the  moon's  silver 
transfiguration  oithe  sea  filled  me  with  deep  and  inde- 
scribable ecstasy,  when  the  thought  of  love,  like  a  full 
chord  struck  from  a  magic  harp,  set  my  pulses  throbbing 
with  delirious  delight;  fancies,  thick  as  leaves  in  sum- 
mer, crowded  my  brain;  earth  was  a  round  charm  hung 
on  the  breast  of  a  smiling  divinity;  men  were  gods ; 
women  were  angels ;  the  world  seemed  but  a  wide  scroll 
for  the  signatures  of  poets,  and  mine,  I  swore,  should 
be  clearly  written!" 

He  paused,  as  though  ashamed  of  his  own  fervor,  and 
glanced  at  Heliobas,  who,  leaning  a  little  forward  in  his 
chair,  was  regarding  him  with  friendly  and  attentive  in- 
terest; then  he  continued  more  calmly: 

"Enough!  I  think  I  had  something  in  me  then — some- 
thing  that  was  new  and  wild,  and  though  it  may  s^eir, 
self-praise  to  say  so,  full  of  that  witching  glamour  we 


CONFESSION  23 

name  Inspiration;  but  whatever  that  something  was — call 
it  genius,  a  trick  of  song,  what  you  will — it  was  soon 
crushed  out  of  me.  The  world  is  fond  of  slaying  its  sing- 
ing-birds and  devouring  them  for  daily  fare — one  rough 
pressure  of  finger  and  thumb  on  the  little  melodious 
throats  and  they  are  mute  forever.  So  I  found  when  at 
last,  in  mingled  pride,  hope  and  fear,  I  published  my 
poems,  seeking  for  them  no  other  recompense  save  fair 
hearing  and  justice.  They  obtained  neither;  they  were 
tossed  carelessly  by  a  few  critics  from  hand  to  hand, 
jeered  at  for  a  while,  and  finally  flung  back  to  me  as 
lies — lies  all!  The  finely-spun  web  of  fairy  fancy,  the 
delicate  interwoven  intricacies  of  thought — these  were 
torn  to  shreds  with  as  little  compunction  as  idle  children 
feel  when  destroying  for  their  own  cruel  sport  the  vel- 
vety wonder  of  a  moth's  wing,  or  the  radiant  roses  and 
emerald  pinions  of  a  dragon-fly.  I  was  a  fool — so  I  was 
told  with  many  a  languid  sneer  and  stale  jest — to  talk 
of  hidden  mysteries  in  the  whisper  of  the  wind  and  the 
dash  of  the  waves — such  sounds  were  but  common  cause 
and  effect.  The  stars  were  merely  conglomerated  masses 
of  heated  vapor  condensed  by  the  work  of  ages  into  me- 
teorites and  from  meteorites  into  worlds,  and  these  went 
on  rolling  in  their  appointed  orbits,  for  what  reason  no- 
body knew,  but  then  nobody  cared.  And  love — the  key- 
note of  the  theme  to  which  I  had  set  my  mistaken  life 
in  tune — love  was  only  a  graceful  word  used  to  politely 
define  the  low  but  very  general  sentiment  of  coarse  ani- 
mal attraction;  in  short,  poetry  such  as  mine  was  alto- 
gether absurd  and  out  of  date  when  confronted  with  the 
facts  of  every-day  existence — facts  which  plainly  taught 
us  that  man's  chief  business  here  below  was  simply  to 
live,  breed,  and  die,  the  life  of  a  silkworm  or  caterpillar 
on  a  slightly  higher  platform  of  ability;  beyond  this — 
nothing!" 

"Nothing?"  murmured  Heliobas,  in  a  tone  of  sugges- 
tive inquiry;  "really  nothing?" 

"Nothing!"  repeated  Alwyn,  with  an  air  of  resigned 
hopelessness;  "for  I  learned  that,  according  to  the  results 
arrived  at  by  the  most  advanced  thinkers  of  the  day, 
there  was  no  God,  no  Soul,  no  Hereafter;  the  loftiest 
efforts  of  the  highest  heaven-aspiring  minds  were  doomed 
to  end  in  npn-frujtion,  failure,  and  annihilation.  Among 


24  "ARDATH" 

all  the  desperately  hard  truths  that  came  rattling  down 
upon  me  like  a  shower  of  stones,  I  think  this  was  the 
crowning  one  that  killed  whatever  genius  I  had.  I  use 
the  word  'genius'  foolishly,  though,  after  all,  genius  it- 
self is  nothing  to  boast  of,  since  it  is  only  a  morbid  and 
unhealthy  condition  of  the  intellectual  faculties,  or  at 
least  as  demonstrated  to  me  as  such  by  a  scientific  friend 
of  my  own,  who,  seeing  I  was  miserable,  took  great  pains 
to  make  me  more  so,  if  possible.  He  proved,  to  his  own 
satisfaction  if  not  altogether  to  mine,  that  the  abnormal 
position  of  certain  molecules  in  the  brain  produced  an 
eccentricity  of  peculiar  bias  in  one  direction  which,  prac- 
tically viewed,  might  be  described  as  an  intelligent  form 
of  monomania,  but  which  most  people  chose  to  term 
'genius,'  and  that  from  a  purely  scientific  standpoint  it 
was  evident  that  the  poets,  painters,  musicians,  sculptors, 
and  all  the  widely  renowned  'great  ones'  of  the  earth 
should  be  classified  as  so  many  brains  more  or  less 
affected  by  abnormal  molecular  formation,  which,  strictly 
speaking,  amounted  to  brain-deformity.  He  assured  me 
that  to  the  properly  balanced,  healthily  organized  brain 
of  the  human  animal,  genius  was  an  impossibility,  it 
was  a  malady  as  unnatural  as  rare.  'And  it  is  singular, 
very  singular,'  he  added  with  a  complacent  smile,  'that 
the  world  should  owe  all  its  finest  art  and  literature 
merely  to  a  few  varieties  of  molecular  disease!'  I  thought 
it  singular  enough,  too;  however,  I  did  not  care  to  ar- 
gue with  him;  I  only  felt  that  if  the  illness  of  genius 
had  at  any  time  affected  me,  it  was  pretty  well  certain 
I  should  now  suffer  no  more  from  its  delicious  pangs  and 
honey-sweet  fever.  I  was  cured!  The  probing-knife  of 
the  world's  cynicism  had  found  its  way  to  the  musically 
throbbing  center  of  divine  disquietude  in  my  brain,  and 
had  there  cut  down  the  growth  of  fair  imaginations  for- 
ever. I  thrust  aside  the  bright  illusions  that  had  once 
been  my  gladness;  I  forced  myself  to  look  with  unflinch- 
ing eyes  at  the  wide  waste  of  universal  nothingness  re- 
vealed to  me  by  the  rigid  positivists  and  iconoclasts  of  the 
century;  but  my  heart  died  within  me;  my  whole  being 
froze,  as  it  were,  into  an  icy  apathy;  I  wrote  no  more;  I 
doubt  whether  I  shall  ever  write  again.  Of  a  truth,  there 
is  nothing  to  write  about.  All  has  been  said.  The  days 
of  the  Troubadours  are  past;  one  cannot  string  canticles 


CONFESSION  25 

of  love  for  men  and  women  whose  ruling  passion  is  the 
greed  of  gold.  Yet  I  have  sometimes  thought  life  would 
be  drearier  even  than  this,  were  the  voices  of  poets  alto- 
gether silent;  and  I  wish — yes!  I  wish  I  had  it  in  my 
power  to  brand  my  sign-manual  on  the  brazen  face  of 
this  coldly  callous  age — brand  it  deep  in  those  letters 
of  living  fire  called  Fame." 

A  look  of  baffled  longing  and  ungratified  ambition  came 
into  his  musing  eyes;  his  strong,  shapely  white  hand 
clenched  nervously,  as  though  it  grasped  some  unseen 
yet  perfectly  tangible  substance.  Just  then  the  storm 
without,  which  had  partially  lulled  during  the  last  few 
minutes,  began  its  wrath  anew;  a  glare  of  lightning 
blazed  against  the  uncurtained  window,  and  a  heavy 
clap  of  thunder  burst  overhead  with  the  sudden  crash  of 
an  exploding  bomb. 

"You  care  for  fame?"  asked  Heliobas  abruptly,  as  soon 
as  the  terrific  uproar  had  subsided  into  a  distant,  dull 
rumbling,  mingled  with  the  pattering  dash  of  hail. 

"I  care  for  it — yes!"  replied  Alwyn,  and  his  voice  was 
very  low  and  dreamy.  "For  though  the  world  is  a  grave- 
yard, as  I  have  said,  full  of  unmarked  tombs,  still  here 
and  there  we  find  graves,  such  as  Shelley's  or  Byron's, 
whereon  pale  flowers,  like  sweet  suggestions  of  ever-si- 
lenced music,  break  into  continuous  bloom.  And  shall  I 
not  win  my  own  death-garland  of  asphodel?" 

There  was  an  indescribable,  almost  heart-rending  pa- 
thos in  his  manner  of  uttering  these  last  words — a  hope 
lessness  of  effort  and  a  despairing  sense  of  failure  which 
he  himself  seemed  conscious  of,  for,  meeting  the  fixed 
and  earnest  gaze  of  Heliobas,  he  quickly  relapsed  into 
his  usual  tone  of  indolent  indifference. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  with  a  forced  smile,  "my  story  is 
not  very  interesting!  No  hair-breadth  escapes,  no  thrill- 
ing adventures,  no  love  intrigues ;  nothing  but  mental 
misery,  for  which  few  people  have  any  sympathy.  A 
child  with  a  cut  finger  gets  more  universal  commiseration 
than  a  man  with  a  tortured  brain  and  breaking  heart; 
yet  there  can  be  no  question  as  to  which  is  the  more  in- 
tense and  long-enduring  anguish  of  the  two.  However, 
such  as  my  troubles  are,  I  have  told  you  all.  I  have 
laid  bare  my  'wound  of  living' — a  wound  that  throbs, 
and  burns,  and  aches  more  intolerably  with  every  pass 


2b  "ARDATH" 

ing  hcur  and  day;  it  is  not  unnatural,  I  think,  that  1 
should  seek  for  a  little  cessation  of  suffering:  a  brief 
dreaming  space  in  which  to  rest  for  a  while,  and  escape 
from  the  dreadful  truth — Truth  that,  like  the  flaming 
sword  placed  east  of  the  fabled  garden  of  Eden,  turns 
ruthlessly  every  way,  keeping  us  out  of  the  forfeited  par- 
adise of  imaginative  aspiration,  which  made  the  men 
of  old  time  great  because  they  deemed  themselves  im- 
mortal. It  was  a  glorious  faith!  that  strong  conscious- 
ness, that  in  the  change  and  upheaval  of  whole  universes 
the  soul  of  man  should  forever  over-ride  disaster.  But  now 
that  we  know  ourselves  to  be  of  no  more  importance,  rel- 
atively speaking,  than  the  animalculae  in  a  drop  of 
stagnant  water,  what  great  works  can  be  done,  what  noble 
deeds  accomplished,  in  the  face  of  the  declared  and 
proved  futility  of  everything?  Still,  if  you  can,  as  you 
say, liberate  me  from  this  fleshly  prison  and  give  me  new 
sensations  and  different  experiences,  why  then,  let  me  de- 
part with  all  possible  speed;  for  I  am  certain  I  shall 
find  in  the  storm-swept  areas  of  space  nothing  worse  than 
life  as  lived  in  this  present  world.  Remember,  I  am 
quite  incredulous  as  to  your  professed  power,"  he  paused 
and  glanced  at  the  white-robed,  priestly  figure  opposite, 
then  added  lightly:  "but  I  am  curious  to  test  it  all  the 
same.  Are  you  ready  to  begin  your  spells?  arvd  shall  ] 
say  the  Nunc  Dimittis?" 


CHAPTER  III. 

DEPARTURE. 

HELIOBAS  was  silent ;  he  seemed  engaged  in  deep  and 
anxious  thought;  and  he  kept  his  steadfast  eyes  fixed 
on  Alwyn's  countenance,  as  though  he  sought  there  the 
clew  to  some  difficult  problem. 

"What  do  you  know  of  the  Nunc  Dimittis?"  he  asked 
at  last,  with  a  half-smile.  "You  might  as  well  say  the 
Pater  Noster;  both  canticle  and  prayer  would  be  equally 
unmeaning  to  you!  For  poet  as  you  are — or  let  me  say 
as  you  were — inasmuch  as  no  atheist  was  ever  a  poet  at 
the  same  time — " 


DEPARTURE  2J 

"You  are  wrong,"  interrupted  Alwyn  quickly.  "Shel- 
ley was  an  atheist." 

"Shelley,  my  good  friend,  was  not  an  atheist.*  He 
strove  to  be  one  —  nay,  he  made  pretense  to  be  one  —  but 
throughout  his  poems  we  hear  the  voice  of  his  inner  and 
better  self  appealing  to  that  Divinity  and  Eternity  which, 
in  spite  of  the  material  part  of  hiai,  he  instinctively  felt 
existent  in  his  own  being.  I  repeat,  poet  as  you  were, 
and  poet  as  you  will  be  again  when  the  clouds 


mind  are  cleared,  you  present  the  strange  But  not  uncom- 
mon  spectacle  of  an  immortal  spirit  righting  to  disprove 
its  own  immortality.  In  a  word,  you  will  not  believe 
in  the  soul." 

"I  cannot!"  said  Alwyn,  with  a  hopeless  gesture. 

"Why?" 

"Science  can  give  us  no  positive  proof  of  its  exist- 
ence; it  cannot  be  defined." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  science?"  demanded  Heliobas. 
"The  foot  of  the  mountain,  at  which  men  now  stand, 
groveling  and  uncertain  how  to  climb?  or  the  glittering 
summit  itself,  which  touches  God's  throne?" 

Alwyn  made  no  answer. 

"Tell  me,"  pursued  Heliobas,  "how  do  you  define  the 
vital  principle?  What  mysterious  agency  sets  the  heart 
beating  and  the  blood  flowing?  By  the  small  porter's 
lantern  of  to  day's  so-called  science,  will  you  fling  a 
light  on  the  dark  riddle  of  an  apparently  purposeless 
universe,  and  explain  to  me  why  we  live  at  all?" 

"Evolution,"  responded  Alwyn  shortly,  "and  necessity." 

"Evolution  from  what?"  persisted  Heliobas.  "From 
one  atom?  What  atom?  And  from  whence  came  the 
atom?  And  why  the  necessity  of  any  atom?" 

"The  human  brain  reels  at  such  questions,"  said  Alwyn 
vexedly  and  with  impatience.  "I  cannot  answer  them  — 
no  one  can!" 

"No  one?"  Heliobas  smiled  very  tranquilly.  "Do  not 
be  too  sure  of  that.  And  why  should  the  human  brain 
'reel'?  —  the  sagacious,  calculating,  clear  human  brain 
that  never  gets  tired,  or  puzzled,  or  perplexed  !  that  set- 
tles everything  in  the  most  practical  and  common-sense 
manner,  and  disposes  of  God  altogether  as  an  extraneous 
sort  of  bargain  not  wanted  in  the  general  economy  of 

*    See  the  la?t  two  verses  of  "Adonais.1 


a8  "ARDATH" 

our  little  solar  system.  Ay,  the  human  brain  is  a  won- 
derful thing!  and  yet  by  a  sharp,  well-directed  knock 
with  this,  "and  he  took  up  from  the  table  a  paper  knife  with 
a  massive,  silver-mounted,  weighty  horn-handle,  "I  could 
deaden  it  in  such  wise  that  the  soul  could  no  more  hold 
any  communication  with  it  and.it  would  lie  an  inert  mass 
in  the  cranium,  of  no  more  use  to  its  owner  than  a  par- 
alyzed limb." 

"You  mean  to  infer  that  the  brain  cannot  act  without 
the  influence  of  the  soul?" 

"Precisely!  If  the  hands  on  the  telegraph  dial  will 
not  respond  to  the  electric  battery,  the  telegram  cannot, 
be  deciphered.  But  it  would  be  foolish  to  deny  the  ex- 
istence of  the  electric  battery  because  the  dial  is  unsat- 
isfactory! In  like  manner,  when,  by  physical  incapacity, 
(or  inherited  disease,  the  brain  can  no  longer  receive  the 
impressions  or  electric  messages  of  the  Spirit,  it  is  prac- 
tically useless.  Yet  the  Spirit  is  there  all  the  same, 
dumbly  waiting  for  release  and  another  chance  of  expan- 
sion." 
''Is  this  the  way  you  account  for  idiocy  and  mania?" 
asked  Alwyn  incredulously. 

"Most  certainly;  idiocy  and  mania  always  come  from 
man's  interference  with  the  laws  of  health  and  of  na- 
ture; never  otherwise.  The  soul  placed  within  us  by 
the  Creator  is  meant  to  be  fostered  by  man's  unfettered 
will;  if  man  chooses  to  employ  that  unfettered  will  in 
wrong  directions,  he  has  only  himself  to  blame  for  the 
disastrous  results  that  follow.  You  may  perhaps  ask 
why  God  has  thus  left  our  wills  unfettered:  the  answer 
is  simple — that  we  may  serve  Him  by  choice  and  not  by 
compulsion.  Among  the  myriad  million  worlds  that 
•  acknowledge  His  goodness  gladly  and  undoubtingly, 
\  why  should  He  seek  to  force  unwilling  obedience  from 
us  castaways?" 

"As  we  are  on  this  subject, "  said  Alwyn,  with  a  tinge 
of  satire  in  his  tone,  "if  you  grant  a  God,  and  make 
Him  out  to  be  Supreme  Love,  why  in  the  name  of  His 
supposed  inexhaustible  beneficence  should  we  be  cast- 
aways at  all?" 

"Because  in  our  over-weening  pride  and  egotism  we 
have  elected  to  be  such,"  replied  Heliobas  "As  angels 
have  fallen,  so  have  we.  But  we  are  not  altogether  cast* 


DEPARTURE  2$ 

aways  now,  since  his  signal,"  and  he  touched  the  cross 
on  his  breast,  "shone  in  heaven."  Alwyn  shrugged  his 
shoulders  disdainfully. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  murmured  coldly,  "with  every  desire 
to  respect  your  religious  scruples,  I  really  cannot,  per- 
sonally speaking,  accept  the  tenets  of  a  worn-out  faith, 
which  all  the  most  intellectual  minds  of  the  day  reject 
as  mere  ignorant  superstition.  The  carpenter's  son  of 
Judea  was  no  doubt  a  very  estimable  person,  a  socialist 
teacher  whose  doctrines  were  very  excellent  in  theory 
but  impossible  of  practice.  That  there  was  anything 
divine  about  him  I  truly  deny;  and  I  confess  I  am  sur- 
prised that  you,  a  man  of  evident  culture,  do  not  seem 
to  see  the  hollow  absurdity  of  Christianity  as  a  system 
of  morals  and  civilization.  It  is  an  ever-sprouting  seed 
of  discord  and  hatred  between  nations;  it  has  served  as 
a  casus  belli  of  the  most  fanatical  and  merciless  charac- 
ter; it  is  answerable  for  whole  seas  of  cruel  and  unnec- 
essary bloodshed —  '  . 

"Have  you  nothing  new  to  say  on  the  subject?"  inter- 
posed Heliobas  with  a  slight  smile.  "I  have  heard  all 
this  so  often  before,  from  divers  kinds  of  men  both  ed- 
ucated and  ignorant,  who  have  a  willful  habit  of  forget- 
ting all  that  Christ  Himself  prophesied  concerning  His 
creed  of  self-renunciation,  so  difficult  to  selfish  human- 
ity: 'Think  not  that  I  come  to  send  peace  on  the  earth. 
I  come,  not  to  send  peace,  but  a  sword.'  Again,  'Ye 

shall  be  hated  of   all    men    for  My    sake,' 

'all  ye  shall  be  offended  because  of  Me.'  Such  plain 
words  as  these  seem  utterly  thrown  away  upon  this  pres- 
ent generation.  And  do  you  know  I  find  a  curious  lack 
of  originality  among  so-called  'freethinkers;'  in  fact, 
their  thoughts  can  hardly  be  designated  as  'free'  when 
they  all  run  in  such  extreme!}'  narrow  grooves  of  simili- 
tude; a  flock  of  sheep  mildly  trotting  under  the  guidance 
of  the  butcher  to  the  slaughter-house  could  not  be  more 
tamely  alike  in  their  bleating  ignorance  as  to  where  they 
are  going.  Your  opinions,  for  instance,  differ  scarce  a 
whit  from  those  of  the  common  boor,  who,  reading  his 
penny  Radical  paper,  thinks  he  can  dispense  with  God, and 
talk  of  the  'carpenter's  son  of  Judea' with  the  same  easy 
flippancy  and  scant  reverence  as  yourself.  The  'intel- 
lectual minds  of  the  day'  to  which  you  allude  are  extraor- 


jo  "ARDATH" 

dinarily  limited  of  comprehension,  and  none  of  them, 
literary  or  otherwise,  have  such  a  grasp  of  knowledge  as 
any  of  these  dead  and  gone  authors,"  and  he  waved  his 
hand  toward  the  surrounding  loaded  book-shelves,  "who 
lived  centuries  ago,  and  are  now,  as  far  as  the  general 
public  is  concerned,  forgotten.  All  the  volumes  you  see 
here  are  vellum  manuscripts  copied  from  the  original 
slafs  of  baked  clay,  stone  tablets  and  engraved  sheets 
of  ivory,  and  among  them  is  an  ingenious  treatise  by 
one  Remeni  Adranos,  chief  astronomer  to  the  then  king 
of  Babylonia,  setting  forth  the  atom  and  evolution  theory 
with  far  more  clearness  and  precision  than  any  of  your 
modern  professors.  All  such  propositions  are  old — old 
as  the  hills,  I  assure  you;  and  these  days  in  which  you 
live  are  more  suggestive  of  the  second  childhood  of  the 
world  than  its  progressive  prime.  Especially  in  your  own 
country  the  general  dotage  seems  to  have  reached  a  sort 
of  climax,  for  there  you  have  the  people  actually  forget- 
ting, deriding,  or  denying  their  greatest  men,  who  form 
the  only  lasting  glories  of  their  history;  they  have  ever 
done  their  futile  best  to  tarnish  the  unsoilable  fame  of 
Shakespeare.  In  that  land  you,  who,  according  to  your 
own  showing,  started  for  the  race  of  life  full  of  high 
hopes  and  inspiration  to  still  higher  endeavor,  you  have 
been  poisoned  by  the  tainted  atmosphere  of  atheism 
which  is  slowly  and  insidiously  spreading  itself  through 
all  ranks,  particularly  among  the  upper  classes,  who, 
while  becoming  every  day  more  lax  in  their  morals  and 
more  dissolute  of  behavior,  consider  themselves  far  too 
wise  and  'highly  cultured*  to  believe  in  anything.  It 
is  a  most  unwholesome  atmosphere,  charged  with  the 
morbidities  and  microbes  of  national  disease  and  down- 
fall; it  is  difficult  to  breathe  it  without  becoming  fever- 
smitten;  and  in  your  denial  of  the  divinity  of  Christ,  I 
do  not  blame  you  any  more  than  I  would  blame  a  poor 
creature  struck  down  by  a  plague.  You  have  caught  the 
negative,  agnostic,  and  atheistical  infection  from  others; 
it  is  not  the  natural,  healthy  condition  of  your  temper- 
ament." 

"On  the  contrary  it  is,  so  far  as  that  point  goes,"  said 
Alwyn  with  sudden  heat.  "I  tell  you  I  am  amazed,  ut- 
terly amazed,  that  you,  with  your  intelligence,  should 
uphold  such  a  barbaric  idea  as  the  Divinity  of  Christ! 


DEPARTURE  3! 

Human  reason  revolts  at  it,  and  after  all,  make  as  lighf 
of  it  as  you  will,  reason. is  the  only  thing  that  exalts  us 
a  little  above  the  level  of  the  beasts." 

"Nay,  the  beasts  share  the  gift  of  reason  in  common 
with  us,"  replied  Heliobas,  "and  man  only  proves  his 
ignorance  if  he  denies  the  fact.  Often,  indeed,  the  very 
insects  show  superior  reasoning  ability  to  ourselves — any 
thoroughly  capable  naturalist  would  bear  me  out  in 
this  assertion." 

"Well,  well!"  and  Alwyn  grew  impatient.  "Reason 
or  no  reason,  I  again  repeat  that  the  legend  on  which 
Christianity  is  founded  is  absurd  and  preposterous;  why, 
if  there  were  a  grain  of  truth  in  it,  Judas  Iscariot,  in- 
stead of  being  universally  condemned,  ought  to  be  hon' 
ored  and  canonized  as  the  first  of  saints." 

"Must  I  remind  you  of  your  early  lesson  days?"  asked 
Heliobas  mildly.  "You  will  find  it  written  in  a  Book  you 
appear  to  have  forgotten,  that  Christ  expressly  prophesied 
'Woe  to  that  man'  by  whom  He  was  betrayed.  I  tell 
you,  little  as  you  credit  it,  there  is  not  a  word  that  ths 
Sinless  One  uttered  while  on  this  earth,  that  has  not 
been  or  shall  not  be  in  time  fulfilled.  But  I  do  not  wish 
to  enter  into  any  controversies  with  you  ;  you  have  told 
me  your  story,  I  have  heard  it  with  interest,  and  I  may 
add  with  sympathy.  You  are  a  poet,  struck  dumb  by 
materialism  because  you  lacked  strength  to  resist  the 
shock;  you  would  fain  recover  your  singing-speech,  and 
this  is,  in  truth,  the  reason  why  you  have  come  to  me, 
You  think  that  if  you  could  gain  some  of  the  strange 
experiences  which  others  have  had  while  under  my  influ- 
ence, you  might  win  back  your  lost  inspiration,  though 
you  do  not  know  why  you  think  t'  is;  neither  do  I— I 
I  can  only  guess. " 

"And  your  guess  is — ?"  demanded  Alwyn  with  an  air 
of  affected  indifference. 

"That  some  higher  influence  is  working  for  your  res- 
cue and  safety,"  replied  Heliobas.  "What  influence,  I 
dare  not  presume  to  imagine,  but — there  are  always  an- 
gels near." 

"Angels!"  Alwyn  laughed  aloud.  "How  many  more  fairy 
tales  are  you  going  to  weave  for  me  out  of  your  fertile 
Oriental  imagination?  Angels!  See  here,  my  good  Helio- 
bas, I  am  perfectly  willing  to  grant  that  you  may  be  a 


38  "ARDATH" 

very  clever  man,  with  an  odd  prejudice  in  favor  of  Chris- 
tianity, but  I  must  request  that  you  will  not  talk  to  me 
of  angels  and  spirits,  or  any  such  nonsense,  as  if  I  were 
a  child  waiting  to  be  amused,  instead  of  a  full-grown 
man  with — " 

"With  so  full-grown  an  intellect  that  it  has  outgrown 
God!"  finished  Heliobas  serenely.  "Quite  so!  Yet  an- 
gels after  all  are  only  immortal  souls  such  as  yours  or 
mine  when  set  free  of  their  earthly  tenements.  For  in- 
stance, when  I  look  at  you  thus,"  and  he  raised  his  eyes 
with  a  lustrous,  piercing  glance,  "I  see  the  proud,  strong 
and  rebellious  angel  in  you  far  more  distinctly  than  your 
outward  shape  of  man;  and  you,  when  you  look  at 
me — " 

He  broke  off,  for  Alwyn  at  that  moment  sprang  from 
his  chair,  and,  staring  fixedly  at  him,  uttered  a  quick, 
fierce  exclamation. 

"Ah,  I  know  you  now!"  he  cried  in  sudden  and  extra- 
ordinary excitement,  "I  know  you  well!  We  have  met 
before!  Why,  after  all  that  has  passed,  do  we  meet 
again?" 

This  singular  speech  was  accompanied  by  a  still  more 
singular  transfiguration  of  countenance;  a  dark,  fiery 
glory  burned  in  his  eyes,  and  in  the  stern,  frowning  won* 
der  and  defiance  of  his  expression  and  attitude,  there 
was  something  grand  yet  terrible,  menacing  yet  super- 
naturally  sublime.  He  stood  so  for  an  instant's  space, 
majestically  somber,  like  some  haughty,  discrowned  em- 
peror confronting  his  conqueror;  a  rumbling,  long-con- 
tinued roll  of  thunder  outside  seemed  to  recall  him  to 
himself,  and  he  pressed  his  hand  tightly  over  his  eye- 
lids, as  though  to  shut  out  some  overwhelming  vision. 
After  a  pause  he  looked  up  again,  wildly,  confusedly, 
almost  beseechingly,  and  Heliobas,  observing  this,  rose 
and  advanced  toward  him. 

"Peace!"  he  said,  in  low,  impressive  tones,  "we  have 
recognized  each  other;  but  on  earth  such  recognitions 
are  brief  and  soon  forgotten!"  He  waited  for  a  few  sec- 
onds, then  resumed  lightly:  "Come,  look  at  me  now! 
what  do  you  see?" 

Alwyn  scanned  his  features  eagerly  and  with  some 
bewilderment. 

"Nothing — but  yourself !"  he    replied,  sighing    deeply 


DEPARTURE  33 

as  he  spoke.  'Yet,  oddly  enough,  a  moment  ago  I  fan- 
cied you  had  altogether  a  different  appearance,  and  I 
thought  I  saw — no  matter  what!  I  cannot  describe  it!" 
His  brows  contracted  in  a  puzzled  line.  "It  was  a  curi- 
ous phenomenon — very  curious — and  it  affected  me 
strangely;"  he  stopped  abruptly,  then  added,  with  a 
slight  flush  of  annoyance  on  his  face,  "I  perceive  you 
are  an  adept  in  the  art  of  poetical  illusion!" 

Heliobas  laughed  softly.  "Of  course.  What  else  can 
you  expect  of  a  charlatan,  a  trickster,  and  a  monk  to 
boot!  Deception,  deception  throughout,  my  dear  sir; 
and  have  you  not  asked  to  be  deceived?" 

There  was  a  fine,  scarcely  perceptible  satire  in  his 
manner;  he  glanced  at  the  tall  oaken  clock  that  stood 
in  one  corner  of  the  room;  its  hands  pointed  to  eleven. 
"Now,  Mr.  Alwyn, "  he  went  on,  "I  think  we  have  talked 
quite  enough  for  this  evening,  and  my  advice  is,  that 
you  retire  to  rest  and  think  over  what  I  have  said  to 
you.  I  am  willing  to  help  you  if  I  can,  but  with  your 
beliefs,  or  rather  your  non-beliefs,  I  do  not  hesitate  to 
tell  you  frankly  that  the  exertion  of  my  internal  force 
upon  yours  in  your  present  condition  might  be  fraught 
with  extreme  danger  and  suffering.  You  have  spoken  of 
truth,  'the  dreadful  truth;'  this  being,  however,  nothing 
but  truth  according  to  the  world's  opinion,  which  changes 
with  every  passing  generation,  and  therefore  is  not  truth 
at  all  There  is  another  truth — the  everlasting  truth — 
the  pivot  of  all  life,  which  never  changes;  and  it  is  wit-h 
this  alone  that  my  science  deals.  Were  I  to  set  you  at 
liberty  as  you  desire,  were  your  intelligence  too  suddenly 
awakened  to  the  blinding  awfulness  of  your  mistaken 
notions  of  life,  death,  and  futurity,  the  result  might  bs 
more  overpowering  than  either  you  or  I  can  imagine!  I 
have  told  you  what  I  can  do;  your  incredulity  does  not 
alter  the  fact  of  my  capacity.  I  can  sever  you — 
that  is,  your  soul,  which  you  cannot  define,  but  which 
nevertheless  exists — from  your  body,  like  a  moth  from 
its  chrysalis ;  but  I  dare  not  even  picture  to  myself  what 
scorching  flame  the  moth  might  not  heedlessly  fly  into! 
You  might,  in  your  temporary  state  of  release,  find  that 
new  impetus  to  your  thoughts  you  so  ardently  desire,  er 
you  might  not;  in  short,  it  is  impossible  to  form  a  guess 
as  to  whether  your  experience  might  be  one  of  supernal 


34  "ARDATH" 

ecstasy  or  inconceivable  horror."    He  paused  a  moment 
Alwyn  was  watching    him    with  a    close    intentness  thai 
bordered  on    fascination,  and    presently    he    continued: 

it  is  best,  from  all  points  of  view,  that  you  should  con- 
sider  the  matter  more  thoroughly  than  you  have  yet  done- 

hmk  it  over  well  and  carefully  until  this  time  to  morrow  ' 

then,  if  you  are  quite  resolved " 

"I  am  resolved  now!"  said  Alwyn  slowly  and  deter- 
minedly.  If  you  are  so  certain  of  your  influence,  come' 
unbar  my  chains !  open  the  prison-door!  Let  me  go 
hence  to-night;  there  is  no  time  like  the  present!" 

ro-mght!"  and  Heliobas  turned  his    keen,  bright  eye 
full  upon  him,  with  a  look  of  amazement  and    reproach 

To-night!  without  faith,  preparation,  or  prayer  vou 
are  willing  to  be  tossed  through  the  realms  of  space  like 
a  gram  of  dust  in  a  whirling  tempest?  Beyond  the  elit 

^h^ir^j^ri^ stars>  th™eh  da^ess> 


ove 
over 


fK-  °f    Fondest    silenc 

of    vibrating    sound-you-^   will  dare  tc 


His  voice  thrilled  with  passion,  his  aspect  was  so  sol- 
emn  and  earnest  and  imposing,  that  Alwyn,  awed  and 
startled,  remained  for  a  moment  mute;  then,  lifting  his 
head  proudly,  answered:  - 

talX68'  j  *"%'*  "  Va"l  immortal  l  wil1  te*t   my  immor- 

?      ?'     Lu'11    u°?  G°d  and  find    these  angfils    you  talk 
about.     What  shall  prevent  me?" 

"Find  the  angels!"  Heliobas  surveyed  him  sadly  as 
he  spoke  Nay  pray  rather  that  they  may  find  thee!" 

?n  w£  rlig  ^  StCadily  at  Alwyn's  Countenance, 
on  which  there  was  just  then  the  faint  glimmer  of  a 
rather  mocking  smile,  and,  as  he  looked,  his  own  face 
darkened  suddenly  into  an  expression  of  vague  trouble 

tahnrl,cTvS17SS'  aud  *  StrangG  <lUiver  Passed  v^ibly 
through  him  from  head  to  foot. 

"You  are  bold,    Mr.  Alwyn,"  iie    said  at    last,  moving 

Lr^6  Ty>  «°Km,,hlS  gU6St  and  s?eak'ng  with  some  ap 
parent  effort,  "bold  to  a  fault,  but  at  the  same  time 
you  are  ignorant  of  all  that  lies  behind  the  veil  of  ti.c 
Unseen.  I  should  be  much  to  blame  if  I  sent  you  hence 
to-night,  utterly  unguided,  utterly  uninstructed.  I  my- 
self must  think  and  pray  before  I  venture  to  incur  so  ter- 


DEPA&TUR*  JJ 

rible   a   responsibility.     To-morrow,    perhaps;  to-night, 
no!     I  cannot;  moreover,  I  will  not!" 

Alwyn  flushed  hotly  with  anger.  "Trickster!"  he 
thought.  "He  feels  he  has  no  power  over  me,  and  he 
fears  to  run  the  risk  of  failure." 

'Did  I  hear  you  aright?"  he  said  aloud  in  cold;  deter- 
mined accents.  'You  cannot?  you  will  not?  By  Heaven!" 
and  his  voice  rose,  "I  say  you  shall!"  As  he  uttered 
these  words  a  rush  of  indescribable  sensations  overcame 
him;  he  seemed  all  at  once  invested  with  some  myste- 
rious, invincible,  supreme  authority;  he  felt  twice  a  man 
and  more  than  half  a  god,  and,  moved  by  an  irresistible 
impulse  which  he  could  neither  explain  nor  control,  he 
made  two  or  three  hasty  steps  forward,  when  Heliobas, 
swiftly  retreating,  waved  him  off  with  an  eloquent  gest- 
ure oi  mingled  appeal  and  menace. 

"Back!  back!"  he  cried  warningly.  "If  you  come  one 
inch  nearer  to  me  I  cannot  answer  for  your  safety;  back, 
I  say!  Good  God!  you  do  not  know  your  own  power!" 

Alwyn  scarcely  heeded  him  ;  some  fatal  attraction  drew 
him  on,  and  he  still  advanced,  when  all  suddenly  he 
paused,  trembling  violently.  His  nerves  began  to  throb 
acutely,  the  blood  in  his  veins  was  like  fire;  there  was 
a  curious  strangling  tightness  in  his  throat  that  inter- 
rupted and  oppressed  his  breathing;  he  stared  straight 
before  him  with  large,  luminous,  impassioned  eyes. 
What — w/iat  was  that  dazzling  something  in  the  air  that 
flashed  and  whirled  and  shone  like  glittering  wheels  of 
golden  flame?  His  lips  parted;  he  stretched  out  his 
hands  in  tne  uncertain  manner  of  a  blind  man  feeling  his 
way.  "O  God!  God!"  he  muttered;  as  though  stricken 
by  some  sudden  amazement ;  then,  with  a  smothered, 
gasping  cry,  he  staggered  and  fell  heavily  forward  on 
the  floor — insensible! 

At  the  self-same  instant  the  window  blew  open  with  a 
loud  crash;  it  swung  backward  and  forward  on  its  hinges, 
and  a  torrent  of  rain  poured  through  it  slantwise  into 
the  room.  A  remarkable  change  had  taken  place  in  the 
aspect  and  bearing  of  Heliobas;  he  stood  as  though 
rooted  to  the  spot,  trembling  from  head  to  foot;  he  had 
lost  all  his  usual  composure;  he  was  deathly  pale,  and 
breathed  with  difficulty.  Presently,  recovering  himself 
ft  little,  he  strove  to  shut  the  swinging  casement,  but 


36  "ARDATH" 

the  wind  was  so  boisterous  that  he  had  to  pause  a  mo- 
ment to  gain  strength  for  the  effort,  and  instinctively  he 
glanced  out  at  the  tempestuous  night.  The  clouds  were 
scurrying  over  the  sky  like  great  black  vessels  on  a  foam- 
ing sea;  the  lightning  flashed  incessantly,  and  the  thun- 
der reverberated  over  the  mountains  in  tremendous  vol- 
leys as  of  besieging  cannon.  Stinging  drops  of  icy  sleet 
dashed  his  face  and  the  front  of  his  white  garb  as  he 
inhaled  the  stormy  freshness  of  the  strong  upward-sweep- 
ing blast  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then,  with  the  air  of  one 
gathering  together  all  his  scattered  forces,  he  shut  to 
the  window  firmly  and  barred  it  across.  Turning  now 
to  the  unconscious  Alwyn,  he  lifted  him  from  the  floor 
to  a  low  couch  near  at  hand,  and  there  laid  him  gently 
down.  This  done,  he  stood  looking  at  him  with  an  ex- 
pression of  the  deepest  anxiety,  but  made  no  attempt 
to  rouse  him  from  his  deathlike  swoon.  His  own  habit- 
ual serenity  was  completely  broken  through;  he  had  all 
the  appearance  of  having  received  some  unexpected  and 
overwhelming  shock;  his  very  lips  were  blanched  and 
quivered  nervously. 

He  waited  for  several  minutes  attentively  watching 
the  recumbent  figure  before  him,  till  gradually,  very  grad- 
ually, that  figure  took  upon  itself  the  pale,  stern  beauty 
of  a  corpse  from  which  life  has  but  recently  and  pain- 
lessly departed.  The  limbs  grew  stiff  and  rigid;  the 
features  smoothed  into  that  mysteriously  wise  placidity 
which  is  so  often  seen  in  the  faces  of  the  dead;  the 
closed  eyelids  looked  purple  and  livid,  as  though  bruised, 
there  was  not  a  breath,  not  a  tremor,  to  offer  any  out- 
ward suggestion  of  returning  animation;  and  when,  after 
some  little  time,  Heliobas  bent  down  and  listened, 
there  was  no  pulsation  of  the  heart — it  had  ceased  to 
beat!  To  all  appearances  Alwyn  was  dead;  any  physi- 
cian would  have  certified  the  fact,  though  how  he  had 
come  by  his  death  there  was  no  evidence  to  show.  And 
in  that  condition — stirless,  breathless,  white  as  marble, 
cold  and  inanimate  as  stone — Heliobas  left  him.  Not  in 
indifference,  but  in  sure  knowledge — knowledge  far  be- 
yond all  mere  medical  science — that  the  senseless  clay 
would  in  due  time  again  arise  to  life  and  motion;  that 
the  casket  was  but  temporarily  bereft  of  its  jewel;  and 
that  the  jewel  itself,  the  soul  of  the  poet,  had  by  a  su- 


*-AKGELUS    DOMINI*  $] 

perhuman  access  of  will  managed  to  break  its  bonds  and 
escape  elsewhere.  But  whither?  Into  what  vast  realms 
of  translucent  light  or  drear  shadow?  This  was  a  ques- 
tion to  which  the  mystic  monk,  gifted  as  he  was  with  a 
powerful  spiritual  insight  into  "things  unseen  and  eter- 
nal," could  find  no  satisfactory  answer,  and  in  his  anxious 
perplexity  he  betook  himself  to  the  chapel,  and  there, 
by  the  red  glimmer  of  the  crimson  star  that  shone  dimly 
above  the  altar,  he  knelt  alone  and  prayed  in  silence  till 
the  heavy  night  had  passed,  and  the  storm  had  slain  it- 
self with  the  sword  of  its  own  fury  on  the  dark  slopes 
of  the  Pass  of  Dariel 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"ANGELUS  DOMINI" 

THE  next  morning  dawned  pallidly  over  a  sea  of  gray 
mist;  not  a  glimpse  of  the  landscape  was  visible;  noth- 
ing but  a  shadowy  vastness  of  floating  vapor  that  moved 
slowly,  fold  upon  fold,  wave  upon  wave,  as  though  bent 
on  blotting  out  the  world.  A  very  faint  chill  light  peered 
through  the  narrow  arched  window  of  the  room  where 
Alwyn  lay,  still  wrapped  in  that  profound  repose,  so 
like  the  last  long  sleep  from  which  some  of  our  modern 
scientists  tell  us  there  can  be  no  awakening.  His  con- 
dition was  unchanged,  the  wan  beams  of  the  early  day 
falling  across  his  features  intensified  their  waxen  still- 
ness and  pallor ;  the  awful  majesty  of  death  was  on  him, 
the  pathetic  helplessness  and  perishableness  of  body 
without  spirit.  Presently  the  monastery  bell  began  to 
ring  for  matins,  and  as  its  clear  chime  struck  through 
the  deep  silence,  the  door  opened,  and  Heliobas,  accom- 
panied by  another  monk,  whose  gentle  countenance  and 
fine  soft  eyes  betokened  the  serenity  of  his  disposition, 
entered  the  apartment.  Together  they  approached  the 
couch,  and  gazed  long  and  earnestly  at  the  supernat- 
urally  slumbering  man. 

"He  is  still  far  away,"  said  Heliobas  at  last,  sighing 
as  he  spoke.  "So  far  away  that  my  mind  misgives  me. 
Alas,  Hilarionl  how  limited  is  our  knowledge  1  even  with 


3&  "AKDAT&* 

all  the  spiritnal  aids  of  spiritual  life  how  little  can  be 
accomplished!  We  learn  one  thing,  and  another  pre- 
sents itself;  we  conquer  one  difficulty,  and  another  in- 
stantly springs  up  to  obstruct  our  path.  Now,  if  I  had 
only  had  the  innate  perception  required  to  foresee  the 
possible  flight  of  this  released  immortal  creature,  might 
I  not  have  saved  it  from  some  incalculable  misery  and 
suffering?" 

"I  think  not,"  answered  in  rather  musing  accents  the 
monk  called  Hilarion — "I  think  not.  Such  protection  can 
never  be  exercised  by  mere  human  intelligence :  if  this 
soul  is  to  be  saved  or  shielded  in  its  invisible  journey- 
ings,  it  will  be  by  some  means  that  not  all  the  marvels 
of  our  science  can  calculate.  You  say  he  was  without 
faith?" 

"Entirely." 

"What  was  his  leading  principle?" 

"A  desire  for  what  he  called  truth,"  replied  Heliobas. 
"He,  like  many  others  of  his  class,  never  took  the 
trouble  to  consider  very  deeply  the  inner  meaning  of  Pi- 
late's famous  question,  'What  is  truth?'  We  know  what 
it  is,  as  generally  accepted  :  a  few  so-called  facts  which 
in  a  thousand  years  will  all  be  contradicted,  mixed  up 
with  a  few  finite  opiaicns  propounded  by  unstable-minded 
men.  In  brief,  truth,  according  to  the  world,  is  simply 
whatever  the  world  is  pleased  to  consider  as  truth  for 
the  time  being.  'Tis  a  somewhat  slight  thing  to  stake 
one's  immortal  destinies  upon!" 

Hilarion  raised  one  of  Alwyn's  cold,  pulseless  hands; 
it  was  stiff,  and  white  as  marble. 

"I  suppose,"  he  said,  "there  is  no  doubt  of  his  return- 
ing hither?" 

"None  whatever,"  answered  Heliobas  decisively.  "His 
life  on  earth  is  assured  for  many  years  yet,  inasmuch 
as  his  penance  is  not  finished,  his  recompense  not  won. 
Thus  far  my  knowledge  of  his  fate  is  certain." 

"Then  you  will  bring  him  back  to-day?"  pursued  Hi- 
larion. 

"Bring  him  back?  I?  I  cannot!"  said  Heliobas, 
with  a  touch  of  sad  humility  in  his  tone.  "And  for  this 
very  reason  I  feared  to  send  him  hence,  and  would  not 
have  done  so, without  preparation  at  any  rate,  could  I  have 
bad  my  way.  His  departure  was  more  strange  than  I 


"ANGELUS  DOMINI'*  39 

have  ever  known ;  moreover,  it  was  his  own  doing,  not 
mine.  I  had  positively  refused  to  exert  my  influence 
upon  him,  because  I  felt  he  was  not  in  my  sphere,  and 
that  therefore  neither  I  nor  any  of  those  higher  intelli- 
gences with  which  I  am  in  communication  could  control 
or  guide  his  wanderings.  He,  however,  was  as  posi- 
tively determined  that  I  should  exert  it,  and  to  this  end 
he  suddenly  concentrated  all  the  pent-up  fire  of  his  na- 
ture in  one  rapid  effort  of  will,  and  advanced  upon  me. 
I  warned  him,  but  in  vain.  Quick  as  lightning  flash 
meets  lightning  flash,  the  two  invisible  immortal  forces 
within  us  sprang  into  instant  opposition — with  this 
difference,  that  while  he  was  ignorant  and  unconscious 
of  his  power,  I  was  cognizant  and  fully  conscious  of 
mine.  Mine  was  focused,  as  it  were,  upon  him;  his 
was  untrained  and  scattered;  the  result  was  that  mine 
won  the  victory;  yet,  understand  me  well,  Hilarion,  if  I 
could  have  held  mysaif  in,  I  would  have  done  so.  It 
was  he,  he  who  drew  my  force  out  of  me  as  one  would 
draw  a  sword  out  of  its  scabbard;  the  sword  maybe  ever 
so  stiffly  fixed  in  its  sheath,  but  the  strong  hand  will 
wrench  it  forth  somehow,  and  use  it  for  battle  when 
needed." 

"Then,"  said  Hilarion  wonderingly,  "you  admit  this 
man  possesses  a  power  greater  than  your  own?" 

"Ay,  if  he  knew  it!"  returned  Heliobas  quietly.  "But 
he  does  not  know!  Only  an  angel  could  teach  him,  and 
in  angels  he  does  not  believe." 

"He  may  believe  now — ?"  . 

"He  may.  He  will,  he  must,  if  he  has  gone  where  I 
would  have  him  go." 

"A  poet,  is  he  not?"  queried  Hilarion  softly,  bending 
down  to  look  more  attentively  at  the  beautiful  Antinous- 
like  face,  colorless  and  cold  as  sculptured  alabaster. 

"An  uncrowned  monarch  of  a  world  of  song!"  respond- 
ed Heliobas,  with  a  tender  inflection  in  his  rich  voice. 
"A  genius  such  as  the  earth  sees  but  once  in  a  century! 
But  he  has  been  smitten  with  the  disease  of  unbelief  and 
deprived  of  hope,  and  where  there  is  no  hope  there  is 
no  lasting  accomplishment."  He  paused,  and  with  a 
touch  as  gentle  as  a  woman's,  rearranged  the  cushions 
under  Alvvyn's  heavy  head,  and  laid  his  hand  in  grave 
benediction  on  the  broad  whits  brow  shaded  by  its  clus- 


40  "ARDATH" 

tering  waves  of  dark  hair.  "May  the  Infinite  Love  bring 
him  out  of  danger  into  peace  and  safety  1'  he  said  sol- 
emnly; then  turning  away,  he  took  his  companion  by 
the  arm,  and  they  both  left  the  room,  closing  the  door 
quietly  behind  them.  The  chapel  bell  went  on  tolling 
slowly,  slowly,  -ending  muffled  echoes  through  the  fog 
for  some  minutes;  then  it  ceased,  and  a  profound  still- 
ness reigned. 

The  monastery  was  always  a  very  silent  habitation; 
situated  as  it  was  on  so  lofty  and  barren  a  crag,  it  was 
far  beyond  the  singing-reach  of  the  smaller  sweet-throated 
birds;  now  and  then  an  eagle  clove  the  mist  with  a 
whir  of  wings  and  a  discordant  scream  on  his  way  to- 
ward some  distant  mountain  eyrie,  but  no  other  sound 
of  awakening  life  broke  the  hush  of  the  slowly-widening 
dawn.  An  hour  passed,  and  Alwyn  still  remained  in  the 
same  position,  as  pallidly  quiescent  as  a  corpse  stretched 
out  for  burial.  By-and-by  a  change  began  to  thrill  mys- 
teriously through  the  atmosphere,  like  the  flowing  of 
amber  wine  through  crystal;  the  heavy  vapors  shud- 
dered together  as  though  suddenly  lashed  by  a  whip  of 
flame;  they  rose,  swayed  to  and  fro,  and  parted  asunder; 
then,  dissolving  into  thin  milk  white  veils  of  fleecy 
film,  they  floated  away,  disclosing,  as  they  vanished, 
the  giant  summits  of  the  encircling  mountains,  that 
lifted  themselves  to  the  light  one  above  another  in  the 
form  of  frozen  billows.  Over  these  a  delicate  pink  flush 
flitted  in  tremulous, wavy  lines;  long  arrows  of  gold  began 
to  pierce  the  tender,  shimmering  blue  of  the  sky;  soft 
puffs  of  cloud  tinged  with  vivid  crimson  and  pale  green 
were  strewn  along  the  eastern  horizon  likt  flowers  in 
the  path  of  an  advancing  hero,  and  ther.  all  at  once 
there  was  a  slight  cessation  of  movement  in  the  heavens, 
an  attentive  pause  as  though  the  whole  universe  waited 
for  some  great  splendor  as  yet  unrevealed.  That  splendor 
came:  in  a  red  blaze  of  triumph  the  sv,n  rose,  pouring 
a  shower  of  beamy  brilliancy  over  th*  white  vastness 
of  the  heights  covered  with  perpetual  snow;  jagged  peaks, 
sharp  as  scimiters  and  sparkling  with  ice,  caught  fire,and 
seemed  to  melt  away  in  an  absorbing  <sea  of  radiance  ;  the 
waiting  clouds  moved  on,  redecked  in  deeper  hues  of 
royal  purple,  and  the  full  morning  glory  was  declared. 
As  the  dazzling  effulgence  streamed  through  the  wii) 


•  "ANGELUS  DOMINI*  4! 

dow  and  flooded  the  couch  where  Alwyn  lay,  a  faint 
tinge  of  color  returned  to  his  face,  his  lips  moved,  hia 
broad  chest  heaved  with  struggling  sighs,  his  eyelids 
quivered,  his  before  rigid  hands  relaxed,  and  folded 
themselves  in  an  attitude  of  peace  and  prayer.  Like  a 
statue  becoming  slowly  and  magically  flushed  with  life, 
the  warm  hues  of  the  naturally  flowing  blood  deepened 
through  the  whiteness  of  his  skin;  his  breathing  grew 
more  and  more  easy  and  regular,  his  features  gradually 
assumed  their  wonted  appearance,  and  presently,  with- 
out any  violent  start  or  exclamation,  he  awoke!  But 
was  it  a  real  awakening?  or  rather  a  continuation  of 
some  strange  impression  received  in  slumber? 

He  rose  to  his  feet,  pushing  back  the  hair  from  his 
brow  with  an  entranced  look  of  listening  wonderment; 
his  eyes  were  humid,  yet  brilliant;  his  whole  aspect  was 
that  of  one  inspired.  He  paced  once  or  twice  up  and 
down  the  room,  but  he  was  evidently  unconscious  of  his 
surroundings;  he  seemed  possessed  by  thoughts  which 
absorbed  his  whole  being.  Presently  he  seated  himself 
at  the  table,  and  absently  fingering  the  writing  materials 
that  were  upon  it,  he  appeared  meditatively  to  question 
their  use  and  meaning.  Then,  drawing  several  sheets 
of  paper  toward  him,  he  began  to  write  with  extraordi- 
nary rapidity  and  eagerness;  his  pen  traveled  on  smooth- 
ly, uninterrupted  by  blot  or  erasure.  Sometimes  he 
paused,  but  when  he  did,  it  was  always  with  an  upraised, 
attentively  listening  expression.  Once  he  murmured 
aloud,  "Ardath!  No,  I  shall  not  forget!  We  will  meet 
at  Ardath!"  and  again  he  resumed  his  occupation.  Page 
after  page  he  covered  with  close  writing — no  weak,  un- 
certain scrawl,  but  a  firm,  bold,  neat  caligraphy,  his 
own  peculiar  characteristic  hand.  The  sun  mounted 
higher  and  higher  in  the  heavens,  hour  after  hour  passed, 
and  still  he  wrote  on,  apparently  unaware  of  the  flitting 
time.  At  mid-day  the  bell,  which  had  not  rung  since 
early  dawn,  began  to  swing  quickly  to  and  fro  in  the 
chapel  turret;  the  deep  bass  of  the  organ  breathed  on 
the  silence  a  thunderous  monotone,  and  a  bee-like  mur- 
mur of  distant  voices  proclaimed  the  words:  "Angelut 
Domini  nuntiavit  Maria," 

At  the  first  sound  of  f  tis  chant,  the  spell  that  en- 
phained  Alwyn's  rnind  wa?  Broken;  drawing  a  quick  dash- 


42  *'ARDATH" 

ing  line  under  what  he  had  written,  he    sprang   up  erect 
arid  dropped  his  pen. 

"Heliobas!"  he  cried  loudly,  "HeliobasI  Where  is  the 
Field  of  Ardath?" 

His  voice  seemed  strange  and  unfamiliar  to  his  own 
ears;  he  waited,  listening,  and  the  chanting  went  on: 
"Et  Verbum  caro  factum  est,  et  habitavit  in  nobis. " 

Suddenly,  as  if  he  could  endure  his  solitude  no  longer, 
he  rushed  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open,  thereby  nearly 
flinging  himself  against  Heliobas.  who  was  entering  the 
room  at  the  same  moment.  He  drew  back,  stared  wildly, 
and  passing  his  hand  across  his  forehead  confusedly, 
forced  a  laugh. 

"I  have  been  dreaming,"  he  said;  then  with  a  passion- 
ate gesture  he  added:  "God!  if  the  dream  were  true!" 

He  was  strongly  excited,  and  Heliobas,  slipping  one 
arm  round  him  in  a  friendly  manner,  led  him  back  to 
the  chair  he  had  vacated,  observing  him  closely  as  he 
did  so. 

"You  call  this  dreaming?"  he  inquired  with  a  slight 
smile,  pointing  to  the  table  strewn  with  manuscript  on 
which  the  ink  was  not  yet  dry.  "Then  dreams  are  more 
productive  than  active  exertion!  Here  is  goodly  matter 
for  printers.  A  fair  result  it  seems  of  one  morning's 
labor. " 

Alwyn  started  up,  seized  the  written  sheets  and  scanned 
them  eagerly. 

"It  is  my  handwriting!"  he  muttered  in  a  tone  of  stu- 
pefied amazement. 

"Of  course!  Whose  handwriting  should  it  be?"  re- 
turned Heliobas,  watching  him  with  scientifically  keen 
yet  kindly  interest. 

"Then  it  is  true!"  he  exclaimed.  "True,  by  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  eye;  true  by  the  love-lit  radiance  of  her 
smile;  true,  O  thou  God  whom  I  dared  to  doubt  1  true 
by  the  marvels  of  Thy  matchless  wisdom!" 

And  with  this  strange  outburst,  he  began  to  read  in 
feverish  haste  what  he  had  written.  His  breath  came 
and  went  quickly,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his  eyes  dilated; 
line  after  line  he  perused  with  apparent  wonder  and  rap- 
ture, when  suddenly,  interrupting  himself,  he  raised  his 
head  and  recited  in  a  half- whisper: 

"With  thundering  notes  of  song  sublim* 
I  cast  my  sins  away  from  me: 


A  MYSTIC  TRYST  43 

On  stairs  of  sound  I  mount,  I  climb* 
The  angels  wait  and  pray  for  mel 

"I  heard  that  stanza  somewhere  when  I  was  a  boy; 
why  do  I  think  of  it  now?  She  has  waited,  so  she  said, 
these  many  thousand  days!" 

He  paused  meditatively,  and  then  resumed  his  read- 
ing. Heliobas  touched  his  arm. 

"It  will  take  you  some  time  to  read  that,  Mr.  Alwyn, " 
he  gently  observed.  "You  have  written  more  than  you 
know." 

Alwyn  roused  himself  and  looked  straight  at  the 
speaker.  Putting  down  his  manuscript  and  resting  one 
hand  upon  it,  he  gazed  with  an  air  of  solemn  inquiry 
into  the  noble  face  turned  steadfastly  toward  his 
own.  , 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  wistfully,  "how  has  it  happened? 
This  composition  is  mine  and  yet  not  mine.  For  it  is 
a  grand  and  perfect  poem  of  which  I  dare  not  call  my- 
self the  author;  I  might  as  well  snatch  Her  crown  of 
starry  flowers  and  call  myself  an  angel!'* 

He  spoke  with  mingled  fervor  and  humility.  To  any- 
ordinary  observer  he  would  have  seemed  to  be  laboring 
under  some  strange  hallucination,  but  Heliobas  was  more 
deeply  instructed. 

"Come,  come!  your  thoughts  are  wide  of  this  world," 
he  said  kindly.  "Try  to  recall  them!  I  can  tell  you 
nothing,  for  I  know  nothing;  you  have  been  absent  many 
hours." 

"Absent?  Yes,"  and  Alwyn's  voice  thrilled  with  an 
infinite  regret.  "Absent  from  earth — ah!  would  to  God 
I  might  have  stayed  with  her,  in  Heaven!  My  love,  my 
love!  Where  shall  I  find  her  if  not  on  the  Field  of  Ar- 
dath?" 


CHAPTER  V. 

A    MYSTIC    TRYST. 

As  he  uttered  the  last  words,  his  eyes  darkened  into 
a  soft  expression  of  musing  tenderness,  and  he  remained 
silent  for  many  minutes,  during  which  the  entranced,  al- 


44  «ARDATH" 

most  unearthly  beauty  cf  his  face  underwent  a  gradual 
change;  the  mystic  light  that  had  for  a  time  transfigured 
it  faded  and  died  away,  and  by  degrees  he  recovered  ali 
his  ordinary  self-possession.  Presently  glancing  at  Heii 
obas,  who  stood  patiently  waiting  till  he  should  have 
overcome  whatever  emotions  were  at  work  in  his  mind, 
he  smiled. 

"You  must  think  me  mad!"  he  said.  "Perhaps  I  am, 
but  if  so,  it  is  the  madness  of  love  that  has  seized  n;e. 
Love!  It  is  a  passion  I  have  never  known  befere;  1 
have  used  it  as  a  mere  thread  whereon  to  string  madri- 
gals, a  background  of  uncertain  tint  serving  to  show  off 
the  brighter  hues  of  poesy;  but  now — now  I  am  enslaved 
and  bound,  conquered  and  utterly  subdued  by  love — 
love  for  the  sweetest,  queenliest,  most  radiant  creature 
that  ever  captured  or  commanded  the  worship  of  man! 
I  may  seem  mad,  but  I  know  I  am  sane;  I  realize  the  ac- 
tual things  of  this  world  about  me;  my  mind  is  clear, 
my  thoughts  are  collected,  and  yet  I  repeat,  I  love!  ay! 
with  all  the  force  and  fervor  of  this  strongly  beating  hu- 
man heart  of  mine,"  and  he  touched  his  breast  as  he 
spoke.  "And  it  comes  to  this,  most  wise  and  worthy 
Heliobas,  if  your  spells  have  conjured  up  this  vision  of 
immortal  youth  and  grace  and  puritj'  that  has  suddenly 
assumed  such  sovereignty  over  my  life,  then  you  must 
do  something  further ;  you  must  find,  or  teach  me  how 
to  find,  the  living  reality  of  my  dream!" 

Heliobas  surveyed  him  with  some  wonder  and  commis- 
eration. 

"A  moment  ago  and  you  yourself  declared  your  dream 
was  true!"  he  observed.  "This,"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
manuscript  on  the  table,  "seemed  to  you  sufficient  to  prove 
it.  Now  you  have  altered  your  opinion — why?  I  have 
worked  no  spells  upon  you,  and  I  am  entirely  ignorant  as 
to  what  your  recent  experience  has  been.  Moreover, 
what  do  you  mean  by  a  'living  reality?'  The  flesh  and 
blood,  bone  and  substance  that  perishes  in  a  brief  sev- 
enty years  or  so  and  crumbles  into  indistinguishable 
dust?  Surely,  if,  as  I  conjecture  from  your  words,  you 
have  seen  one  of  the  fair  inhabitants  of  higher  spheres 
than  ours,  you  would  not  drag  her  spiritual  and  death- 
unconscious  brightness  down  to  the  level  of  the  'reality* 
of  a  merely  human  life?  Nay, if  you  would, you  could  not!" 


A  MYSTIC  TRYST  4.5 

Alwyn  looked  at  him  inquiringly  and  with  a  perplexed 
air. 

"You  speak  in  enigmas,"  he  said  somewhat  vexedlj. 
"However,  the  whole  thing  is  an  enigma  and  would  puz- 
zle the  most  sagacious  head.  That  the  physical  work- 
ings of  the  brain  in  a  state  of  trance  should  arouse  in 
me  a  passion  of  love  for  an  imaginary  being,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  enable  me  to  write  a  poem  such  as  must 
make  the  fame  of  any  man,  is  certainly  a  remarkable  and 
noteworthy  result  of  scientific  mesmerism!" 

"Now,  my  dear  sir,"  interrupted  Heliobas  in  a  tone  of 
good  natured  remonstrance,  "do  not,  if  you  have  any 
respect  for  science  at  all,  do  not,  I  beg  of  you,  talk  to 
me  of  the  'physical  workings'  of  a  dead  brain!" 

"A  dead  brain!"  echoed  Alwyn.    "What  do  you  mean?" 

"What  I  say,"  returned  Heliobas  composedly.  "'Phys- 
ical workings'  of  any  kind  are  impossible  unless  the 
motive  power  of  physical  life  be  in  action.  You,  re- 
garded as  a  human  creature  merely,  had  during  several 
hours  practically  ceased  to  be;  the  vital  principle  no 
longer  existed  in  your  body,  having  taken  its  departure 
with  its  inseparable  companion,  the  soul.  When  it  re- 
turned, it  set  the  clockwork  of  your  material  mechanism 
in  motion  again,  obeying  the  sovereignty  of  the_ spirit 
that  sought  to  express  by  material  means  the  utterance 
of  heaven-inspired  thought.  Thus  your  hand  mechan- 
ically found  its  way  to  the  pen;  thus  you  wrote,  uncon- 
scious of  what  you  were  writing,  yielding  yourself 
entirely  to  the  guidance  of  the  spiritual  part  of  your 
nature,  which  at  that  particular  juncture  was  absolutely 
predominant,  though  now,  weighted  anew  by  earthy 
influences,  it  has  partially  relaxed  its  supernal  sway. 
All  this  I  readily  perceive  and  understand;  but  what 
you  did,  and  where  you  were  conducted  during  the 
time  of  your  complete  severance  from  the  tenement  of 
clay  in  which  you  are  again  imprisoned,  this  I  have  yet 
to  learn. " 

While  Heliobas  was  speaking,  Alwyn's  countenance 
had  grown  vaguely  troubled,  and  now  into  his  deep  po- 
etic eyes  there  came  a  look  of  sudden  penitence. 

"True!"  he  said  softly,  almost  humbly.  "I  will  tell 
you  everything  while  I  remember  it,  though  it  is  not 
likely  I  shall  ever  forget!  I  believe  there  must  be  some 


46  "ARDATH" 

truth  after  all  in  what  you  say  concerning  the  soul;  at 
any  rate,  I  do  not  at  present  feel  inclined  to  call  your 
theories  in  question.  To  begin  with,  1  find  myself  un- 
able altogether  to  explain  what  it  was  that  happened  to 
me  during  my  conversation  with  you  last  night.  It  was 
a  very  strange  sensation!  I  recollect  that  I  had  expressed 
a  wish  to  be  placed  under  your  magnetic  or  electric  in- 
fluence and  that  you  had  refused  my  request.  Then  an 
odd  idea  suggested  itself  to  me  -  namely,  that  I  could, 
if  I  chose,  compel  your  assent,  and,  filled  with  this  no- 
tion, I  think  I  addressed  you,  or  was  about  to  address  you, 
in  a  rather  peremptory  manner,  when,  all  at  once,  a  flash 
of  blinding  lighr  struck  me  fiercely  across  the  eyes  like 
a  scourge!  Stung  with  the  hot  pain  and  dazzled  by  the 
glare,  I  turned  away  from  you  and  fled — or  so  it  seemed 
— fled  on  my  own  instinctive  impulse,  into  darkness!" 

He  paused  and  drew  a  long,  shuddering  breath,  like 
one  who  has  narrowly  escaped  imminent  destruction. 

"Darkness!"  he  went  on  in  low  accents  that  thrilled 
with  the  memory  of  a  past  fear,  "dense,  horrible,  fright- 
ful darkness  that  palpitated  heavily  with  the  labored  mo- 
tion of  unseen  things — darkness  that  clung  and  closed 
about  me  in  "masses  of  clammy,  tangible  thickness!  its 
advancing  and  resistless  weight  rolled  over  me  like  a 
huge  waveless  ocean,  and,  absorbed  within  it,  I  was 
drawn  down — down — down  toward  some  hidden,  impal- 
pable but  all-supreme  agony,  the  dull,  unceasing  throbs 
of  which  I  felt,  yet  could  not  name.  'O  God?  I  cried 
.aloud,  abandoning  myself  to  wild  despair,  'O  God!  Where 
art  ThouF  Then  I  heard  a  great  rushing  sound  as  of 
a  strong  wind  beaten  through  with  wings,  and  a  Voice, 
grand  and  sweet  as  a  golden  trumpet  blown  suddenly 
in  the  silence  of  night,  answered,  'Here  and  Every- 
where!' With  that,  a  slanting  stream  of  opaline  radiance 
cleft  the  gloom  with  the  sweep  of  a  sword-blade,  and  I 
was  caught  up  quickly,  I  know  not  how,  for  I  saw  noth- 
ing!" 

Again  he  paused  and  looked  wistfully  at  Heliobas,  who 
in  turn  regarded  him  with  gentle  steadfastness. 

"It  was  wonderful — terrible!"  he  continued  slowly, 
"yet  beautiful! — that  Invisible  Strength  that  rescued, 
surrounded,  and  lifted  me;  and — "here  he  hesitated,  and 
a  faint  flush  colored  his  cheeks  and  stole  up  to  the  roots 


A  MYSTIC   IfcYS'f  47 

of  his  clustering  hair — "dream  or  no  dream,  I  feel  ] 
cannot  now  altogether  reject  the  idea  of  an  existing  Di- 
vinity. In  brief,  I  believe  in  God  I" 

"Why?"  asked  Heliobas  quietly. 

Alwyn  met  his  gaze  frankly  and  with  a  soft  brighten- 
ing of  his  handsome  features. 

"I  caanot  give  you  any  logical  reasons,"  he  said. 
"Moreover,  logical  reasoning  would  not  now  affect  me 
in  a  matter  which  seems  to  me  more  full  of  conviction 
than  any  logic.  I  believe,  simply  because  I  believe!" 

Heliobas  smiled,  a  very  warm  and  kindly  smile,  but 
said  nothing,  and  Alwyn  resumed  his  narrative. 

"As  I  tell  you,  I  was  caught  up,  snatched  out  of  that 
black  profundity  with  inconceivable  swiftness,  and  when 
the  ascending  movement  ceased,  I  found  myself  floating 
lightly  like  a  wind-blown  leaf  through  twining  arches  of 
amber  mist,  colored  here  and  there  with  rays  of  living 
flame;  I  heard  whispers,  and  fragments  of  song  and 
speech,  all  sweeter  than  the  sweetest  of  our  known 
music,  and  still  I  saw  nothing.  Presently  some  one 
called  me  by  name,  'Theos!  TheosT  I  strove  to  an- 
swer ;  but  I  had  no  words  wherewith  to  match  that 
sliver-toned,  far-reaching  utterance;  and  once  again  the 
rich  vibrating  notes  pealed  through  the  vaporous  fire- 
tinted  air:  'Theos,  my  beloved.'  Higher — higher!'  All 
my  being  thrilled  and  quivered  to  that  call;  I  yearned 
to  obey;  I  struggled  to  rise;  my  efforts  were  in  vain; 
when,  to  my  joy  and  wonder,  a  small,  invisible  hand, 
delicate  yet  strong,  clasped  mine,  and  I  was  borne  aloft 
with  breathless,  indescribable,  lightning-like  rapidity — 
on — on — and  ever  upward,  till  at  last,  alighting  on  a 
smooth,  fair  turf,  thick-grown  with  fragrant  blossoms 
of  strange  loveliness  and  soft  hues,  I  beheld  her!  and 
she  bade  me  welcome!" 

"And  who,"  questioned  Heliobas,  in  tones  of  hushed 
reverence,  "who  was  this  being  that  thus  enchants  your 
memory?" 

"1  know  not!"  replied  Alwyn,  with  a  dreamy  smile  of 
rapture  on  his  lips  and  in  his  eyes.  "And  yet  her  face 
— oh!  the  entrancing  beauty  of  that  face! — was  not  alto- 
gether unfamiliar.  I  felt  that  I  must  have  loved  and 
lost  her  ages  upon  ages  ago.  Crowned  with  wh:f~ 
flowers,  and  robed  in  a  garb  that  seemed  spun  from 


}d  "ARDATH' 

summer  moonbeams,  she  stood,  a  smiling  maiden-sweet- 
ness in  a  paradise  of  glad  sights  and  sounds;  ah!  Eve 
with  the  first  sunrise  radiance  on  her  brows,  was  not 
more  divinely  fair!  Venus,  new-springing  from  the  sil- 
ver sea-foam,  was  not  more  queenly  glorious!  I  will 
remind  thee  of  all  thou  hast  forgotten,'  she  said,  and  I 
understood  her  soft,  half-reproachful  accents.  'It  is 
not  yet  too  late!  Thou  hast  lost  much  and  suffered  much, 
and  thou  hast  blindly  erred,  but  notwithstanding  all 
these  things,  thou  art  my  beloved  since  these  many 
thousand  days!'" 

"Days  which  the  world  counts  as  years,"  murmured 
Heliobas.  "You  saw  no  one  but  her?'' 

"No  one — we  were  alone  together.  A  vast  woodland 
stretched  before  us ;  she  took  my  hand  and  led  me  be- 
neath broad  arching  trees  to  where  a  lake,  silvered  by 
some  strange  radiance,  glittered  diamond  like  in  the  stir- 
rings of  a  balmy  wind.  Here  she  bade  me  rest,  and  sank 
gently  on  the  flowery  bank  beside  me.  Then,  viewing 
her  more  closely,  I  greatly  feared  her  beauty,  for  I  saw 
a  wondrous  halo  wide  and  dazzling — a  golden  aureole 
that  spread  itself  around  her  in  scintillating  points  of 
light — light  that  reflected  itself  also  on  me,  and  bathed 
me  in  its  luminous  splendor.  And  as  I  gazed  at  her  in 
speechless  awe,  she  leaned  toward  me  nearer  and  nearer, 
her  deep,  pure  eyes  burning  softly  into  mine;  her  hands 
touched  me,  her  arms  closed  round  me,  her  bright  head 
lay  in  all  its  shining  loveliness  on  my  breast!  A  trem- 
ulous ecstasy  thrilled  me  as  with  fire;  I  gazed  upon  her 
as  one  might  gaze  on  some  fluttering, rare-plumaged  bird; 
I  dared  not  move  or  speak ;  I  drank  her  sweetness  down 
into  my  soul!  Now  and  then  a  sound  as  of  distant  harps 
playing  broke  the  love  weighted  silence,  and  thus  we 
remained  together,  a  heavenly  breathing-space  of  word- 
less rapture;  till  suddenly  and  swiftly,  as  though  she 
had  received  an  invisible  summons,  she  arose,  her  looks 
expressing  a  saintly  patience,  and  laying  her  two  hands 
upon  my  brow:  'Write  '  she  said,  'write  and  proclaim  a 
message  of  hope  to  the  Sorrowful  Star!  Write  and  let 
thine  utterance  be  a  true  echo  of  the  eternal  music  with 
which  these  spheres  are  filled!  Write  to  the  rhythmic 
beat  of  the  harmonies  within  thee,  for  lo!  once  more, 
as  in  aforetime,  my  changeless  love  renews  in  thee  the 


A  MYSTIC  TRYST  49 

power  of  perfect  song!*  With  that  she  moved  away  se- 
renely and  beckoned  me  to  follow;  I  obeyed  in  haste 
and  trembling:  long  rays  of  rosy  light  swept  after  her 
like  trailing  wings;  and  as  she  walked,  the  golden  nim- 
bus round  her  form  glowed  with  a  thousand  brilliant  and 
changeful  hues,  like  the  rainbow  seen  in  the  spray  of  fall- 
ing water!  Through  lush  green  grass  thick  with  blos- 
som, under  groves  heavy  with  fragrant  leaves  and  laden 
with  the  songs  of  birds,  over  meadows  cool  and  moun- 
tain sheltered,  on  we  went — she,  like  the  goddess  of  ad- 
vancing Spring,  I  eagerly  treading  in  her  radiant  foot- 
steps— and  presently  we  came  to  a  place  where  two  paths 
met,  one  all  overgrown  with  azure  and  white  flowers, 
that  ascended  away  and  away  into  undiscerned  distance, 
the  other  sloping  steeply  downward  and  full  of  shadows, 
yet  dimly  illumined  by  a  pale,  mysterious  splendor,  like 
frosty  moonlight  streaming  on  sad-colored  seas.  Here 
she  turned  and  faced  me,  and  I  saw  her  divine  eyes 
droop  with  the  moisture  of  unshed  tears.  'Theos!  Theos!' 
she  cried,  and  the  passionate  cadence  of  her  voice  was 
as  the  singing  of  a  nightingale  in  lonely  woodlands: 
'Again — again  we  must  part!  Part!  O  my  beloved!  my 
beloved!  How  long  wilt  thou  sever  me  from  thy  soul 
and  leave  me  alone  and  sorrowful  amid  the  joys  of  Heav- 
en?' As  she  thus  spoke,  a  sense  of  utter  shame  and  loss 
and  failure  overwhelmed  me ;  pierced  to  the  very  core 
of  my  being  by  an  unexplained  yet  most  bitter  remorse, 
I  cast  myself  down  in  deep  abasement  before  her  ;  I  caught 
her  glittering  robe,  I  strove  to  say  'Forgive!'  but  I  was 
speechless  as  a  convicted  traitor  in  the  presence  of  a 
wronged  queen!  All  at  once  the  air  about  us  was  rent 
by  a  great  noise  of  thunder  intermingled  with  triumphal 
music.  She  drew  her  sheeny  garment  from  my  touch 
in  haste,  and,  stooping  to  me  where  I  knelt,  she  kissed 
my  forehead.  'Thy  road  lies  there,'  she  murmured  in 
quick,  soft  tones,  pointing  to  the  vista  of  varying  light 
and  shadow;  'mine  yonder!'  and  she  looked  toward  the 
flower  garlanded  avenue.  Hasten!  It  is  time  thou 
wert  far  hence!  Return  to  thine  own  star,  lest  its  por- 
tals be  closed  on  thee  forever  and  thou  be  plunged  into 
deeper  darkness!  Seek  thou  the  Field  of  Ardath!  At 
Christ  lives,  1  will  meet  thee  there!  Farewell!*  With 
these  words  she  left  me,  passing  away,  arrayed  in  glory. 


5o  "ARDATH" 

treading  on  flowers,  and  ever  ascend <<ig  till  she  disap- 
peared !  While  I,  stricken  with  a  great  repentance,  went 
slowly,  as  she  bade  me,  down  into  the  shadow,  and  a 
rippling  breeze-like  melody,  as  of  harps  and  lutes  most 
tenderly  attuned,  followed  me  as  I  descended.  And 
-now,"  said  Alwyn,  interrupting  his  narrative  and  speak- 
ing with  emphatic  decision,  "surely  there  remains  but 
one  thing  for  me  to  do — that  is,  to  find  the  Field  of  Ar- 
•dath. " 

Heliobas  smiled  gravely.  "Nay,  if  you  consider  the 
whole  episode  a  dream,"  he  observed,  "why  trouble 
yourself?  Dreams  are  seldom  realized,  and  as  to  the 
name  of  Ardath,  have  you  ever  heard  it  before?" 

"Never!"  replied  Alwyn.  "Still,  if  there  be  such  a 
place  on  this  planet  I  will  most  certainly  journey  thith- 
er! Maybe  you  know  something  of  its  whereabouts?" 

"Finish  your  story,"  said  Heliobas,  quietly  evading 
the  question.  "I  am  curious  to  hear  the  end  of  your 
strange  adventure." 

"There  is  not  much  more  to  tell,"  and  Alwyn  sighed  a 
little  as  he  spoke.  I  wandered  further  and  further  into 
the  gloom,  oppressed  by  many  thoughts  and  troubled  by 
vague  fears,  till  presently  it  grew  so  dark  that  I  could 
scarcely  see  where  I  was  going,  though  I  was  able  to 
guide  myself  in  the  path  that  stretched  before  me  by 
means  of  the  pale,  luminous  rays  that  frequently  pierced 
the  deepening  obscurity,  and  these  rays  I  now  noticed 
fell  ever  downward  in  the  form  of  a  cross.  As  I  went 
on  1  was  pursued,  as  it  were,  by  the  sound  of  those 
delicate  harmonies  played  on  invisible  sweet  strings ; 
and  after  a  while  I  perceived  at  the  extreme  end  of  the 
long,  dim  vista  a  door  standing  open,  through  which  I 
entered  and  found  myself  alone  in  a  quiet  room.  Here 
I  sat  down  to  rest;  the  melody  of  the  distant  harps  and 
lutes  still  floated  in  soft  echoes  on  the  silence,  and  pres 
ently  words  came  breaking  through  the  music,  like  buds 
breaking  from  their  surrounding  leaves — words  that  I  was 
compelled  to  write  down  as  quickly  as  I  heard  them, 
and  I  wrote  on  and  on,  obeying  that  symphonious  and 
rhythmical  dictation  with  a  sense  of  growing  ease  and 
pleasure,  when  all  suddenly  a  dense  darkness  overcame 
nie,  followed  by  a  gradual  dawning  gray  and  golden 
tight,  the  words  dispersed  into  fragmentary  half-sylla- 


A  MYSTIC  TRYST  51 

bles  ;  the  music  died  away;  I  started  up  amazed,  to  find 
myself  here — here  in  this  monastery  of  Lars,  listening 
to  the  chanting  of  the  Angelus. " 

He  ceased,  and  looked  wistfully  out  through  the  win- 
dow at  the  white,  encircling  rim  of  the  opposite  snow- 
mountains,  now  bathed  in  the  full  splendor  of  noon. 
Heliobas  advanced  and  laid  one  hand  kindly  on  his 
shoulder. 

"And  do  not  forget,"  he  said,  "that  you  have  brought 
with  you  from  the  higher  regions  a  poem  that  will  in  all 
probability  make  your  fame.  'Fame!  fame!  next  grand- 
est word  to  God!"  so  wrote  one  of  your  craft,  and  no 
doubt  you  echo  the  sentiment.  Have  you  not  desired  to 
blazon  your  name  on  the  open  scroll  of  the  world? 
Well!  now  you  can  have  your  wish — the  world  waits  to 
receive  your  signature." 

"That  is  all  very  well,"  and  Alwyn  smiled  rather  du- 
biously as  he  glanced  at  the  manuscript  on  the  table  be- 
side him.  "But  the  question  is,  considering  how  it  was 
written,  can  I,  dare  I  call  this  poem  mine?" 

"Most  assuredly  you  can, "  returned  Heliobas,  "though 
your  hesitation  is  a  worthy  one,  and  as  rare  as  it  is 
worthy.  Well  would  it  be  for  all  poets  and  artists  were 
they  to  pause  thus,  and  consider  before  rashly  calling 
their  work  their  own!  Self-appreciation  is  the  death-blow 
of  genius.  The  poem  is  as  much  yours  as  your  life  is 
yours — no  more  and  no  less.  In  brief,  you  have  recov- 
ered your  lost  inspiration;  the  lately  dumb  oracle  speaks 
again;  and  are  you  not  satisfied?" 

"No!"  said  Alwyn  quickly,  with  a  sudden  brightening 
of  his  eyes  as  he  met  the  keenly  searching  glance  that 
accompanied  this  question.  "No!  for  I  love!  and  the 
desire  of  love  burns  in  me  as  ardently  as  the  desire  of 
fame!"  He  paused,  and  in  quieter  tones  continued: 
"You  see  I  speak  freely  and  frankly  to  you,  as  though — " 
and  he  laughed  a  little — "as  though  I  were  a  good  Cath- 
olic, and  you  my  father  confessor!  Good  Heavens!  if 
some  of  the  men  I  know  in  London  were  to  hear  me, 
they  would  think  me  utterly  crazed!  But  craze  or  no 
craze,  I  feel  I  shall  never  be  satisfied  now  till  I  find  out 
whether  there  is  anywhere  in  the  world  a  place  called 
Ardath.  Can  you,  will  you  help  me  in  the  search?  I 
am  almost  ashamed  to  ask  you,  for  you  have  already  done 


53  "ARDATH" 

so  much  for  me,  and  I  really  owe  to  your  wonderful 
power  my  trance  or  soul-liberty,  or  whatever  it  may  be 
called — " 

"You  owe  me  nothing,"  interposed  Heliobas  calmly, 
'not  even  thanks.  Your  own  will  accomplished  your 
freedom,  and  I  am  not  responsible  for  either  your  de- 
parture or  your  return.  It  was  a  predestined  occurrence, 
yet  perfectly  scientific  and  easy  of  explanation.  Your 
inward  force  attracted  mine  down  upon  you  in  one  strong 
current,  with  the  result  that  your  spirit  instantly  parted 
asunder  from  your  body,  and  in  that  released  condition 
you  experienced  what  you  have  described.  But  /  had 
no  more  to  do  with  that  experience  than  I  shall  have 
with  your  journey  to  the  'Field  of  Ardath,'  should  you 
decide  to  go  there." 

"There  is  an  'Ardath'  then!"    cried    Alwyn  excitedly. 

Heliobas  eyed  him  with  something  of  scorn.  "Nat- 
urally! Are  you  still  so  much  of  a  skeptic  that  you  think 
an  angel  would  have  bidden  you  seek  a  place  that  had 
no  existence?  Oh  yes!  I  see  you  are  inclined  to  treat 
your  ethereal  adventure  as  a  mere  dream,  but  I  know  it 
was  a  reality,  more  real  than  anything  in  this  present 
world."  And  turning  to  the  loaded  bookshelves  he  took 
down  a  large  volume,  and  spread  it  open  on  the  table. 

"You  know  this  book?"  he  asked. 

Alwyn  glanced  at  it.  "The  Bible!  Of  course!"  he 
replied  indifferently.  "Everybody  knows  it!" 

"Pardon!"  and  Heliobas  smiled.  "It  would  be  more 
correct  to  say  nobody  knows  it.  To  read  is  not  always 
to  understand.  There  are  meanings  and  mysteries  in  it 
which  have  never  yet  been  penetrated,  and  which  only 
the  highest  and  most  spiritually  gifted  intellects  can 
ever  hope  to  unravel.  Now,"  and  he  turned  over  the 
pages  carefully  till  he  came  to  the  one  he  sought,  "I 
think  there  is  something  here  that  will  interest  you — list- 
en!" and  he  read  aloud:  "'The  Angel  Uriel  came  unto 
me  and  said:  Go  into  a  field  of  flowers  where  no  house 
is  builded  and  eat  only  the  flowers  of  the  field;  taste  no 
flesh,  drink  no  wine,  but  eat  flowers  only.  And  pray 
unto  the  Highest  continually,  and  then  will  I  come  and 
talk  to  thee,  So  I  went  my  way  into  the  field  which  is 
called  Ardath — '" 

"The  very  place!"  exclaimed  Alwyn,  eagerly    bending 


A  MYSTIC  TRYST  53 

ever  the  sacred  book;  then  drawing  back  with  a  gesture 
of  disappointment,    he    added:     "But    you    are    reading    • 
from    Esdras;     the    Apocrypha!     An    utterly    unreliable  / 
source  of  information!" 

"On  the  contrary,  as  reliable  as  any  history  ever  writ- 
ten," rejoined  Heliobas  calmly.  "Study  it  for  yourself; 
you  will  see  that  the  prophet  was  at  that  time  resident 
in  Babylon;  the  field  he  mentions  was  near  the  city — " 

"Yes — was!"   interrupted  Alwyn  incredulously. 

"Was  and  is,"  continued  Heliobas.  "No  earthquake 
has  crumbled  it,  no  sea  has  invaded  it,  and  no  house  has 
been  'builded'  thereon.  It  is,  as  it  was  then,  a  waste 
field  lying  about  four  miles  west  of  the  Babylonian  ruins, 
and  there  is  nothing  whatever  to  hinder  you  from  jour- 
neying thither  when  you  please." 

Alwyn' s  expression  as  he  heard  this  was  one  of  stupe- 
fied amazement.  Part  of  his  so-called  "dream"  had  al- 
ready proved  itself  true;  a  "Field  of  Ardath"  actually 
existed  ! 

"You  are  certain  of  what  you  say?"  he  demanded. 

"Positively  certain!"  returned  Heliobas. 

There  was  a  silence,  during  which  a  little  tinkling 
bell  resounded  in  the  outer  corridor,  followed  by  the 
tread  of  sandaled  feet  on  the  stone  pavement.  Heliobas 
closed  the  Bible  and  returned  it  to  its  shelf. 

"That  was  the  dinner-bell,"  he  announced  cheerfully. 
"Will  you  accompany  me  to  the  refectory,  Mr.  Alwyn? 
We  can  talk  further  of  this  matter  afterward." 

Alwyn  roused  himself  from  the  fit  of  abstraction  into 
which  he  had  fallen,  and  gathering  .  together  the  loose 
sheets  of  his  so  strangely  written  manuscript,  he  arranged 
them  all  in  an  orderly  heap  without  speaking.  Then 
he  looked  up  and  met  the  earnest  eyes  of  Heliobas  with 
an  expression  of  settled  resolve  in  his  own. 

"I  shall  set  out  for  Babylon  to-morrow,"  he  said  quietly. 
"As  well  go  there  as  anywhere;  and  on  the  result  of  my 
journey  I  shall  stake  my  future!  In  the  meantime — ' 
He  hesitated,  then  suddenly  extending  his  hand  with  a 
frank  grace  that  became  him  well,  "In  spite  of  my  brus- 
querie  last  night,  I  trust  we  are  friends?" 

"Why,  most  assuredly  we  are!"  returned  Heliobas, 
heartily  pressing  the  proffered  palm.  "You  had  your 
doubts  of  me  and  you  have  them  still;  but  what  of  that? 


54  "ARDATH" 

I  take  no  offense  at  unbelief.  I  pity  those  who  suffer 
from  its  destroying  influence  too  profoundly  to  find  room 
in  my  heart  for  anger.  Moreover,  I  never  try  to  convert 
anybody;  it  is  so  much  more  satisfactory  when  skeptics 
convert  themselves,  as  you  are  unconsciously  doing! 
Come,  shall  we  join  the  brethren?" 

Over    Alwyn's  face    flitted  a  transient  shade  of  uneas 
iness  and  hauteur. 

"I  would    rather  they    knew    nothing    about  all  this, 
he  began. 

"Make  your  mind  quite  easy  on  that  score,"  rejoinea 
Hcliobas.  "None  of  my  companions  here  are  aware  o\ 
your  recent  departure,  except  my  very  old  personal  friena 
Hilarion,  who,  with  myself,  saw  your  body  while  in  its 
state  of  temporary  death.  But  he  is  one  of  those  remark- 
ably rare  wise  men  who  know  when  it  is  best  to  be 
silent;  then  again,  he  is  ignorant  as  to  the  results  oi 
your  soul  transmigration,  and  will,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, remain  in  ignorance.  Your  confidence,  I  assure 
you,  is  perfectly  safe  with  me — as  safe  as  though  it  had 
been  received  under  the  sacred  seal  of  confession. " 

With  this  understanding  Alwyn  seemed  relieved  anq 
satisfied,  and  thereupon  they  left  the  apartment  to 
gether. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
"NOURHALMA"  AND  THE  ORIGINAL  ESDRAS. 

LATER  on  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  when  tiws 
sun,  poised  above  the  western  mountain-range,  appeared 
to  be  lazily  looking  about  with  a  drowsy  golden  smile  of 
farewell  before  descending  to  his  rest,  Alwyn  was  once 
more  alone  in  the  library.  Twilight  shadows  were  al- 
ready gathering  in  the  corners  of  the  long,  low  room,  but 
he  had  moved  the  writing  table  to  the  window,  in  order 
to  enjoy  the  magnificence  of  the  surrounding  scenery,  and 
sat  where  the  light  fell  full  upon  his  face  as  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  nead 
in  an  attitude  of  pleased,  half-meditative  indolence.  He 
had  just  finished  reading  from  beginning  to  end  of  the 


"NOVRHALMA"  AND  THE  ORIGINAL  ESDRAS  55 

poem  he  had  composed  in  his  trance;  there  was  not  a 
line  in  it  he  could  have  wished  altered,  not  a  word  that 
would  have  been  better  omitted  j  the  only  thing  it  lacked 
was  a  title,  and  this  was  the  question  on  which  he  now 
pondered.  The  subject  of  the  poem  itself  was  not  new 
to  him;  it  was  a  story  he  had  known  from  boyhood- 
an  old  Eastern  love  legend,  fantastically  beautiful  as 
many  *uch  legends  are,  full  of  grace  and  passionate  fer- 
vor, a  theme  fitted  for  the  nightingale-utterance  of  a 
singer  like  the  Persian  Hafiz,  though  even  Hafiz  would 
have  found  it  difficult  to  match  the  exquisitely  choice 
language  and  delicately  ringing  rhythm  in  which  this 
quaint  idyll  of  long  past  ages  was  now  most  perfectly 
set.  like  a  jewel  in  fine  gold.  Alwyn  himself  entirely 
realized  the  splendid  literary  value  of  the  composition ; 
he  knew  that  nothing  more  artistic  in  conception  or 
more  finished  in  treatment  had  appeared  since  the  bt. 
Agnes  Eve"  of  Keats;  and  as  he  thought  of  this,  he 
yielded  to  a  growing  sense  of  self-complacent  satisfaction 
which  gradually  destroyed  all  the  deeply  devout  hunul- 
itv  he  had  at  first  felt  concerning  the  high  and  mysteri- 
ous origin  of  his  inspiration.  The  old  inherent  pride  of 
his  nature  re-asserted  itself;  he  reviewed  all  the  circum- 
stances of  his  "trance"  in  the  most  practical  manner,  ana 
calling  to  mind  how  the  poet  Coleridge  had  improvised 
the  delicious  fragment  of  "Kubla  Khan"  in  a  dream,  he 
began  to  see  nothing  so  very  remarkable  in  his  own  un- 
conscious production  of  a  complete  poem  while  under 
mesmeric  or  magnetic  influences. 

"After  all,"  he  mused,  "the    matter  is   simple  enough, 
.when  one  reasons  it  out.     I  have  been    unable    to  write 
anything  worth  writing  for  a  long   time,  and  I    told  He 
liobas  as  much.     He,  knowing    my    apathetic    condition 
of  brain,  employed  his  force  accordingly,  though    he ^ de- 
nies having  done  so,  and  this  poem  is  evidently  the  resul 
of  my  own  long  pent-up  thoughts  that  struggled    for  ut- 
terance, yet  could  not   before    find  vent    in  words.     The 
only  mysterious  part  of  the  affair  is  this    Field  of  Ardath 
-how  its  name  haunts  me-and  how  her  face  shines  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  my  memory!  That  she  should  be  a  phan- 
tom of  my    own    creation    seems    impossible;    for   when 
have  I.  even  in  my  wildest  freaks   of    fancy,  ever    imag- 
ined, a  ceoature  half  so  fair?" 


56  "ARDATH" 

His  gaze  rested  dreamily  on  the  opposite  snow  clad 
peaks,  above  which  large  fleecy  clouds,  themselves  mov- 
ing mountains,  were  slowly  passing,  their  edges  glowing 
with  purple  and  gold  as  they  neared  the  sinking  sun. 
Presently  rousing  himself,  he  took  up  a  pen,  and  first 
of  all  addressing  an  envelope  to 

THE  HONORABLE  FRANCIS  VILLIERS, 

CONSTITUTIONAL  CLUB, 

LONDON, 
he  rapidly  wrote  off  the  following  letter: 

* 

MONASTERY  OF  LARS, 

PASS  OF  DARIEL,  CAUCASUS. 

My  DEAR  VILLIERR: — Start  not  at  the  above  address!  I  am  not  yet 
vowed  to  perpetual  seclusion,  silence,  or  celibacy  I  That  I  of  all  men  in 
the  world  should  br  in  a  monastery  will  seem  to  you,  who  know  my 
prejudices,  in  the  last  degree  absurd;  nevertheless,  here  I  am.  though 
here  I  do  not  remain,  as  it  is  my  fixed  intention  to-morrow  at  day-break 
to  depart  straightway  from  hence  en  mute  for  the  supposed  site  and  ruins 
of  Babylon  Yes,  Babylon!  Why  not?  Perished  greatness  has  always 
been  a  more  interesting  subject  of  contemplation  to  me  than  existing  lit- 
tleness, and  I  dare  say  I  shalt  wander  among  the  tumuli  of  the  ancient 
fallen  city  with  more  satisfaction  than  in  the  hot  humanity-packed  streets 
of  London,  Paris  or  Vienna — all  destined  to  become  tumuli  in  their  turn. 
Moreover,  I  am  on  the  track  of  an  adventure,  on  the  search  of  a  new  sen- 
sation, having  tried  nearly  all  the  old  and  found  thtm  nil.  You  know  my 
nomadic  and  restless  disposition;  perhaps  there  is  something  of  the  Greek 
gypsy  about  me — a  craving  for  constant  change  of  scene  and  surround- 
ings. However,  as  my  absence  from  you  and  England  is  likely  to  be 
somewhat  prolonged,  1  send  you  in  the  meantime  a  poem — there!  "Sea- 
son your  admiration  for  a  while"  and  hear  me  out  patiently.  I  am 
perfectly  aware  of  all  you  would  say  concerning  the  utter  folly  and  useless- 
ness  of  writing  poetry  at  all  in  this  present  age  of  milk-and-water  litera- 
ture, shilling  sensationals  and  lascivious  society  dramas,  and  I  have  a 
very  keen  recollection,  too,  of  the  way  in  which  my  last  book  was  mal- 
treated by  the  entire  press.  Good  Heavens!  How  the  critics  yelped  like 
dogs  about  my  heels,  snapping,  sniffing  and  snarling.  I  could  have  wept 
then  like  the  sensativefool  I  was — I  can  laugh  now!  In  brief,  my  friend 
— for  you  are  my  friend,  and  the  best  of  all  possible  good  fellows — I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  conquer  those  that  have  risen  against  me,  to  break 
through  the  ranks  of  pedantic  and  preconceived  opinions,  and  to  climb 
the  heights  of  fame,  regardless  of  the  little  popular  pipers  of  tame  verse 
that  obstruct  my  path  and  blow  their  tin  whistles  in  the  public  ears 
to  drown,  if  possible,  my  song  I  WILL  be  heard!  and  to  this  end  I  pin 
my  faith  on  the  work  I  now  transmit  to  your  care.  Have  it  published 
immediately  and  in  the  best  style;  I  will  cover  all  expenses.  Advertise 
sufficiently,  yet  with  becoming  modesty,  for  "puffery  'is  a  thing  I  heartily 
despise,  and  were  the  whole  press  to  turn  round  and  applaud  me  as  much 
as  it  has  hitherto  abused  and  ridiculsd  me,  I  would  not  have  one  of  its 
penny  lilies  of  condescendingly  ignorant  approval  quoted  in  connection 


"NOURHALMA"  AND  THE  ORIGINAL  ESDKAS  57 

with  what  mast  be  a  perfectly  unostentatious  and  simple  announcement  of 
this  new  production  from  my  pen.    The  manuscript  is  exceptionally  clear, 
even  for  me,  who  do  not  as  a  rule  write  a  very  bad  scrawl,  so  that   you 
can  scarcely  have  much  bother  with  the   proof-correcting-though  even 
were  this  the  case,  and  the  printers  turned  out  to  be  incorrigible  block- 
heads and  blunderers,  I  know  you  would  grudge  neither  time  nor  trouble 
expended  in  my  service.     Good  Frank  Villiers!     How  much  I  owe   you 
and  yet  I  willingly  incur  another  debt  of  gratitude  by  placing  this  matter 
in  your  hands,  and  am  content  to  borrow  more  of  your  friendship,   but 
only,  believe  me,  in  order  to  repay  it  again  with  th%tru.Myn/e"*Vt  */ 
the  way   do  you  remember  when  we  visited  the  last  Paris  Salon ^together, 
how  fascinated  we  were  by  one  picture    the  head  of  a   monk  *j««|« 
looked  out  like  a  veritable  illumination  from  under  the  folds  of  a  drooping 
white  cowl?  aud  how  on  referring  to  our  catalogues  we  found  it  described 
»  the  portrait  of  one  "Heliobas,"  an  Eastern  mystic  a  psychist  formerly 
well  known  in  Paris,  but  since  retired  into  monastic    life       Well    I  have 
discovered  him  here;  he  is  apparently  the  superior  chief  o     this  order 
though  what  order  it  is  and  when  founded  is  more  than  I  can  tell     There 
are  fifteen  monks  altogether,  living  contentedly  in  this   old    ^If-ruined 
habitation  among  the  barren  steeps  of  the  frozen  Caucasus-splendid, 
princely-looking  fellows,  all  of  them.  Heliobas  himself  being  an  excep- 
tionally fine  specimen  of  his  race,     I  have  just  dined  with  he  whole  com- 
munity  and  hPave  been  fairly  astonished  by  the  fluent  brilliancy  and  wit 
of  thefr  conversation.     They  speak  all  languages,  English  mcluded,  and 
no    subject    comes    amiss    to   them,    for   they   are   familiar     with    the 
latest  political  situations  in  all  countries-they  know  all  about  the  newest 
scientific  discoveries  (which,  by-the-by,  they  smile  at  blandly   as  though 
Seseiast  were  mere  child's  play),  and   they  discuss   our   mote i   social 
problems  and  theories  with  a  Socratic-hke   mcisiveness   and   Composure 
such  as  our  parliamentary  howlers  would  do  well  to  imitate.     The  r  doc- 
trine is-but  I  will  not  bore  you  by  a  theological  disquisition-enough  to 
say  it  is  founded  on  Christianity,  and  that  at  present  I  don't  quite  know 
what  £  make  of  it!     And  now,  my  dear  Villiers  farewell!     An  answer  to 
this  isunnecessary;  besides,  I  can  give  you  no  address   as  itis  uncertain 
where  I  shall  be   for   the   next   two  or   three   months      If   . I   dont   get 
as  much   pleasure  as  I   anticipate  from  the  contemplation tof  the ^Baby- 
lonian  rnTnt,  I  shall  probably  take  up  my  abode  m  Bagdad  for; a  im; eand 
try  to  fancy  myself  back  in  the  days  of    "good  Haroun  Alraschid.       At 
any  rate,  whatever  becomes  of  me.  I  know  I  have  entrusted  my  poem  to 
safe  hands,  and  all  I  ask  of  you  is  that  it  may  be  brought  out  with    he 
least  possible  delay,  for  its  immediate  publication  seems  to  me  just  now  the 
most  Sy Important  thing  in  the  world,  except-except   the  adventure 
Twhich  fam^t  present  engaged,  of  which  more   hereafter  when  we. 
meet.     Until  then  think  as  well  of  me  as  you  can   and  believe  me 

Ever  and  most  truly  your  friend, 

THEOS  ALWYN. 

This  letter  finished,  folded  and  sealed  Alwyn  once 
more  took  up  his  manuscript  and  meditated  anew  con- 
cerning its  title.  Stay!  why  not  call  it  by  the  name  of 
the  ideal  heroine  whose  heart-passion  and  sorrow  formed 
the  nucleus  of  the  legend-a  name  that  he  in  very  truth 
was  all  unconscious  of  having  chosen,  but  which  occurred 


58  "ARDATH" 

frequently  with  musical  persistence  throughout  the  en- 
tire poem.  "NOURHALMA'"  It  had  a  soft  sound;  it  seemed 
to  breathe  of  Eastern  languor  and  love-singing;  it  was 
surely  the  best  title  he  could  have.  Straightway  decid- 
ing thereon,  he  wrote  it  clearly  at  the  top  of  the  first 
page,  thus:  "Nourhalma;  a  Love  Legend  of  the  Past;" 
then  turning  to  the  end,  he  signed  his  own  name  with  a 
bold  flourish,  thus  attesting  his  indisputable  right  to 
the  authorship  of  what  was  not  only  destined  to  be 
the  most  famous  poetical  masterpiece  of  the  day,  but 
was  also  soon  to  prove  the  most  astonishing,  complex, 
and  humiliating  problem  ever  suggested  to  his  brain. 
Carefully  numbering  the  pages,  he  folded  them  in  a  neat 
packet,  which  he  tied  strongly  and  sealed;  then  address- 
ing it  to  his  friend,  he  put  letter  and  packet  together, 
and  eyed  them  both  somewhat  wistfully,  feeling  that 
with  them  went  his  great  chance  of  immortal  fame.  Im- 
mortal fame  !  What  a  grand  vista  of  fair  possibilities 
those  words  unveiled  to  his  imagination.  Lost  in  pleas- 
ant musings,  he  looked  out  again  on  the  landscape.  The 
sun  had  sunk  behind  the  mountains  so  far,  that  nothing 
was  left  of  his  glowing  presence  but  a  golden  rim  from 
which  great  glittering  rays  spread  upward  like  lifted 
lances  poised  against  the  purple  and  roseate  clouds.  A 
slight  click  caused  by  the  opening  of  the  door  disturbed 
his  revery ;  he  turned  round  in  his  chair,  and  half  rose 
from  it  as  Heliobas  entered,  carrying  a  small,  richly- 
chased  silver  casket. 

"Ah,  good  Heliobas,  here  you  are  at  last!"  he  said 
with  a  smile.  "I  began  to  think  you  were  never  com- 
ing. My  correspondence  is  finished,  and,  as  you  see, 
my  poem  is  addressed  to  England,  where  I  pray  it  may 
meet  with  a  better  fate  than  has  hitherto  attended  my 
efforts. " 

"You  pray?  "  queried  Heliobas  meaningly,  "or  you 
hope?  There  is  a  difference  between  the  two.  " 

"I  suppose  there  is,"  he  returned  nonchalantly.  "And 
certainly — to  be  correct — I  should  have  said  I  hope,  for 
I  never  pray.  What  have  you  there?"  this  as  Heliobas 
set  the  casket  he  carried  down  on  the  table  before  him. 
"A  reliquary?  And  is  it  supposed  to  contain  a  fragment 
of  the  true  cross?  Alas!. I  cannot  believe  in  these  frag- 
ments; there  are  too  many  of  them!" 


"NOURHALMA"  AND  THE  ORIGINAL  ESDRAS  59 

Heliobas  laughed  gently. 

'You  are  right !  Moreover,  not  a  single  splinter  of 
the  true  cross  is  in  existence.  It  was,  like  other  crosses 
then  in  general  use,  thrown  aside  as  lumber,  and  had 
rotted  away  into  the  earth  long  before  the  Empress 
Helena  started  on  her  piously-crazed  wanderings.  No, 
I  have  nothing  of  that  sort  in  here,"  and  taking  a  key 
from  a  small  chain  that  hung  at  his  girdle,  he  unlocked, 
the  casket.  "This  has  been  in  the  possession  of  the  va- 
rious members  of  our  order  for  ages;  it  is  our  chief  treas- 
ure, and  is  seldom,  I  may  say  never,  shown  to  strangers, 
but  the  mystic  mandate  you  have  received  concerning 
the  'Field  of  Ardath'  entitles  you  to  see  what  I  think 
must  needs  prove  interesting  to  you  under  the  circum- 
stances." And,  opening  the  box,  he  lifted  out  a  small, 
square  volume, bound  in  massive  silver  and  double-clasped. 
"This,"  he  went  on,  "is  the  original  text  of  a  portion 
of  the  'Visions  of  Esdras, '  and  dates  from  the  thirtieth 
year  after  the  downfall  of  Babylon's  commercial  pros- 
perity." 

Alwyn  uttered  an  exclamation  of  incredulous  amaze- 
ment. "Not  possible!"  he  cried;  then  he  added  ea- 
gerly: "May  I  look  at  it?" 

Silently  Heliobas  placed  it  in  his  outstretched  hand. 
As  he  undid  the  clasps  a  faint  odor  like  that  of  long- 
dead  rose-leaves  came  like  a  breath  on  the  air  ;  he  opened 
it,  and  saw  that  its  pages  consisted  of  twelve  moder- 
ately thick  sheets  of  ivory,  which  were  covered  all  over 
with  curious,  small  characters,  finely  engraved  thereon 
by  some  evidently  sharp  and  well-pointed  instrument. 
These  letters  were  utterly  unknown  to  Alwyn;  he  had 
seen  nothing  like  them  in  any  of  the  ancient  tongues, 
and  he  examined  them  perplexedly. 

"What  language  is  this?  '  he  asked  at  last,  looking 
up.  "It  is  not  Hebrew,  nor  yet  Sanskrit,  nor  does  it 
resemble  any  of  the  discovered  forms  of  hieroglyphic 
writing.  Can  you  understand  it?" 

"Perfectly!"  returned  Heliobas.  "If  I  could  not,  then 
much  of  the  wisdom  and  science  of  past  ages  would  be 
closed  to  rny  researches.  It  is  the  language  once  com- 
monly spoken  by  certain  great  nations  which  existed 
long  before  the  foundations  of  Babylon  wsre  laid.  Lit- 
tle by  little  it  fell  into  disuse,  till  it  was  only  kept  up 


60  "ARDATH" 

among  scholars  and  sages,  and  in  time  became  known 
only  as  'the  language  of  prophecy.'  When  Esdras  wrote 
his  visions  they  were  originally  divided  into  two  hundred 
and  four  books,  and,  as  you  will  see  by  referring  to  what 
is  now  called  the  Apocrypha,*  he  was  commanded  to 
publish  them  all  openly  to  the  'worthy  and  unworthy' 
— all  except  the 'seventy  last,'  which  were  to  be  deliv- 
ered solely  to  such  as  were  'wise  among  the  people.' 
Thus,  one  hundred  and  thirty-four  were  written  in  the 
vulgar  tongue,  the  remaining  seventy  in  the  'language 
of  prophecy,'  for  the  use  of  deeply  learned  and  scientific 
men  alone.  The  volume  you  hold  is  one  of  those  sev- 
enty. " 

"How  did  you  come  by  it?"  asked  Alwyn,  curiously 
turning  the  book  over  and  over. 

"How  did  our  Order  come  by  it,  you  mean,"  said 
Heliobas.  "Very  simple.  Chaldean  fraternities  existed 
in  the  time  of  Esdras,  and  to  the  supreme  chief  of  these, 
Esdras  himself  delivered  it.  You  look  dubious,  but  I 
assure  you  it  is  quite  authentic;  we  have  its  entire  his- 
tory up  to  date." 

"Then  are  you  all  Chaldeans  here?" 

"Not  all — but  most  of  us.  Three  of  the  brethren  are 
Egyptians,  and  two  are  natives  of  Damascus.  The  rest 
are,  like  myself,  descendants  of  a  race  supposed  to  have 
perished  from  off  the  face  of  the  earth,  yet  still  powerful 
to  a  degree  undreamed  of  by  the  men  of  this  puny  age." 

Alwyn  gave  an  upward  glance  at  the  speaker's  regal 
form — a  glance  of  genuine  admiration. 

"As  far  as  that  goes, "  he  said,  with  a  frank  laugh,  "I'm 
quite  willing  to  believe  you  and  your  companions  are 
kings  in  disguise;  you  all  have  that  appearance!  But 
regarding  this  book,"  and  again  he  turned  over  the  sil- 
ver-bound relic,  "if  its  authenticity  can  be  proved  as 
you  say,  why,  the  British  Museum  would  give,  ah — let 
me  see — it  would  give — " 

"Nothing!"  declared  Heliobas  quietly,  "believe  me, 
nothing.  The  British  Government  would  no  doubt  ac- 
cept it  as  a  gift,  just  as  it  would  with  equal  alacrit)^  ac- 
cept the  veritable  signature  of  Homer,  which  we  also 
possess  in  another  retreat  of  ours  on  the  Isle  of  Lemnos. 
But  our  treasures  are  neither  for  giving  nor  selling,  and 

*    Vidt  a  Esdras  riv.  44-48, 


"NOURHALMA"  AND  THE  ORIGINAL  ESDRAS  6r 

with  respect  to  this  original    'Esdras,'    it    will   certainly 
never  pass  out  of  our  hands. " 

"And  what  of  the    other    missing    sixty-nine    books? 
asked  Alwyn. 

"They  may  possibly  be  somewhere  in  the  world;  two 
of  them,  I  know,  were  buried  in  the  coffin  of  one  of  the 
last  princes  of  Chaldea;  perhaps  they  will  be  unearthed 
some  day.  There  is  also  a  rumor  to  the  effect  thatEsdras 
engraved  his  'Last  Prophecy'  on  a  small  oval  tablet  of 
pure  jasper,  which  he  himself  secreted,  no  one  knows 
where.  But  to  come  to  the  point  of  immediate  issue, 
shall  I  find  out  and  translate  for  you  the  allusions  to 
the  'Field  of  Ardath'  contained  in  this  present  volume?" 

"Do,"  said  Alwyn  eagerly,  at  once  returning  the  book 
to  Heliobas,  who,  seating  himself  at  the  table,  began 
carefully  looking  over  its  ivory  pages.  "1  am  all  impa- 
tience! Even  without  the  vision  I  have  had,  I  should 
still  feel  a  desire  to  see  this  mysterious  field  for  its  own 
sake;  it  must  have  some  very  strange  associations  to  be 
worth  specifying  in  such  a  particular  manner." 

Heliobas  answered  nothing — he  was  entirely  occupied 
in  examining  the  small,  closely  engraved  characters  in 
which  the  ancient  record  was  written;  the  crimson  after- 
glow of  the  now  descended  sun  flared  through  the  win 
dow  and  sent  a  straight  rosy  ray  on  his  bent  head  and 
white  robes,  lighting  to  a  more  lustrous  brilliancy  the 
golden  cross  and  jeweled  star  on  his  breast,  and  flashing 
round  the  silver  clasps  of  the  time-honored  relic  before 
him.  Presently  he  looked  up. 

"Here  we  have  it!"  and  he  placed  his  finger  on  one  es- 
pecial passage.  "It  reads  as  follows: 

"  'And  the  Angel  bade  me  enter  a  waste  field,  anci  the  field  was  barren 
and  dry  save  of  herbs,  and  the  name  of  the  field  was  ARDATH. 

"  'And  I  wandered  therein  through  the  hours  of  the  long  night,  and  the 
silver  eyes  of  the  field  did  open  before  me  and  I  saw  signs  and  wonders: 

"  'And  I  heard  a  voice  crying  aloud,  Esdras,  Esdras 

"  'And  I  arose  and  stood  on  my  feet  and  listened  and  refrained  not  till 
I  heard  the  voice  again, 

"  'Which  said  unto  me,  Behold  the  field  thou  thoughtest  barren,  how 
great  a  glory  hath  the  moon  unveiled! 

"  'And  I  beheld  and  was  sore  amazed:  for  I  was  no  longer  myself  but 
another. 

"  'And  the  sword  of  death  was  in  that  other's  soul,  and  yet  that  other 
was  but  myself  in  pain; 

"  'And  I  knew  not  those  things  that  were  once  familiar,  and  my  heart 
failed  within  me  for  very  fear. 


62  "ARDATH" 

'"And  the  voice  cried  aloud  again,  saying:  Hide  thee  from  the  perils 
of  the  past  and  the  perils  of  the  future,  for  a  great  and  terrible  thing  is 
come  upon  thee,  against  which  thy  strength  is  as  a  reed  in  the  wind  and 
thy  thoughts  as  flying  sand, 

' '  '*And,  lo,  I  lay  as  one  that  had  been  dead,  and  mine  understanding  was 
taken  from  me.  And  he  (the  Angel)  took  me  by  the  right  hand  and  com- 
forted me  and  set  me  upon  my  feet  and  said  unto  me: 

"  'What  aileth  thee?  and  why  art  thou  so  disquieted?  and  why  is  thine 
understanding  troubled  and  the  thoughts  of  thine  heart? 

"  'And  I  said  Because  thou  hast  forsaken  me  and  yet  I  did  according 
to  thy  words,  and  I  went  into  the  field,  and  lo!  I  have  seen  and  yet  see 
that  I  am  not  able  to  express.' " 

Here  Heliobas  paused,  having  read  the  last  sentence 
with  peculiarly  impressive  emphasis. 

"That  is  all,"  he  said.  "I  see  no  more  allusions  to 
the  name  of  'Ardath.'  The  last  three  verses  are  the 
same  as  those  in  the  accepted  Apocrypha." 


CHAPTER    VII. 

AN  UNDESIRED  BLESSING. 

ALWYN  had  listened  with  an  absorbed  yet  somewhat 
mystified  air  of  attention. 

"The  venerable  Esdras  was  certainly  a  poet  in  his  own 
way!"  he  remarked  lightly.  "There  is  something  very 
fascinating  about  the  rhythm  of  his  lines,  though  I  con- 
fess I  don't  grasp  their  meaning.  StilL  I  should  like 
to  have  them  all  the  same;  will  you  let  me  write  them 
out  just  as  you  have  translated  them?" 

Willingly  assenting  to  this,  Heliobas  read  the  ex- 
tract over  again,  Alwyn  taking  down  the  words  from  his 
dictation. 

"Perhaps,"  he  then  added  musingly,  "perhaps  it  would 
Be  as  well  to  copy  a  few  passages  from  the  Apocrypha 
also." 

Whereupon  the  Bible  was  brought  into  requisition, 
and  the  desired  quotations  made,  consisting  of  verses 
xxiv.  to  xxvi.f  in  the  ninth  chapter  of  the  Second  Book 
of  Esdras,  and  verses  xxv.  and  xxvi.  in  the  tenth  chap- 

*See  2  Esdras  x.   30-32. 
\  T'\*  reader  is  requested  to  refer  to  the  parts  of  Esdras  here  indicated. 


AN  UNDESIRED  BLESSING  6$ 

ter  of  the  same.  This  done,  Heliobas  closed  and  clasped 
the  original  text  of  the  prophet's  work  and  returned  it 
to  its  casket;  then  addressing  his  guest  in  a  kindly  yet 
serious  tone,  he  said  :  "You  are  quite  resolved  to  under- 
take this  journey,  Mr.  AJwyn?" 

Alwyn  looked  dreamily  out  of  the  window  at  the  flame 
of  the  sunset-hues  reflected  from  the  glowing  sky  on  the 
white  summit  of  the  mountains. 

"Yes — I— I  think  so!"  The  answer  had  a  touch  of  in- 
decision in  it. 

"In  that  case,"  resumed  Heliobas,  "I  have  prepared  a 
letter  of  introduction  for  you  to  one  of  our  order  known 
as  Elze'ar  of  Melyana;  he  is  a  recluse,  and  his  hermit- 
age is  situated  close  to  the  Babylonian  ruins.  You  will 
find  rest  and  shelter  there  after  the  fatigues  of  travel. 
I  have  also  traced  out  a  map  of  the  district,  and  the 
exact  position  of  the  field  you  seek;  here  it  is,"  and  he 
laid  a  square  piece  of  parchment  on  the  table,  "you  can 
easily  perceive  at  a  glance  how  the  land  lies.  There 
are  a  few  directions  written  at  the  back,  so  I  think  you 
will  have  no  difficulty.  This  is  the  letter  to  Elzear, " 
here  he  held  out  a  folded  paper — "will  you  take  it  now?' 

Alwyn  received  it  with  a  dubious  smile,  and  eyed  the 
donor  as  if  he  rather  suspected  the  sincerity  of  his  in- 
tentions. 

"Thanks  very  much,"  he  murmured  listlessly.  "You 
are  exceedingly  good  to  make  it  all  such  plain  sailing 
for  me;  and  yet,  to  be  quite  frank  with  you,  I  can't  help 
thinking  I  am  going  on  a  fool's  errand." 

"If  that  is  your  opinion,  why  go  at  all?"  queried  Heli- 
obas, with  a  slight  disdain  in  his  accents.  "Return  to 
England  instead — forget  the  name  of  'Ardath, '  and  for- 
get also  the  one  who  bade  you  meet  her  there,  and  who 
has  waited  for  you  'these  many  thousand  days!'" 

Alwyn  started  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

"Ah!"  he  exclaimed,  "if  I  could  be  certain  of  seeing 
her  again — if — good  God!  the  idea  seems  absurd — if 
that  flower-crowned  wonder  of  my  dream  should  actually 
fulfill  her  promise  and  keep  her  tryst — " 

"Well!"  demanded  Heliobas.     "If  so,  what  then?" 

"Why,  then  I  will  believe  in  anything!"  he  cried.  "No 
miracle  will  seem  miraculous — no  impossibility  impossi- 
ble!" 


64  "ARDATH1' 

Heliobas  sighed,  and  regarded  him  thoughtfully. 

"You  think  you  will  believe!"  he  said  somewhat  sadly; 
"but  doubts  such  as  yours  are  not  easily  dispelled.  An- 
gels have  ere  now  descended  to  men,  and  men  have 
neither  received  nor  recognized  them.  Angels  walk  by 
our  side  through  crowded  cities  and  lonely  woodlands, 
they  watch  us  when  we  sleep,  they  hear  us  when  we  pray, 
and  yet  the  human  eye  sees  nothing  save  the  material 
objects  within  reach  of  its  vision  and  is  not  very  sure 
of  those;  while  it  can  no  more  discern  the  spiritual  pres- 
ences than  it  can  without  a  microscope  discern  the  lovely 
living  creatures  contained  in  a  drop  of  dew  or  a  ray  of 
sunshine.  Our  earthly  sight  is  very  limited — it  can 
neither  perceive  the  infinitely  little  nor  the  infinitely 
great.  And  it  is  possible,  nay,  it  is  most  probable,  that 
even  as  Peter  of  old  denied  his  Divine  Master,  so  you, 
if  brought  face  to  face  with  the  angel  of  your  last  night's 
experience,  would  deny  and  endeavor  to  disprove  her 
identity. " 

"Never!"  declared  Alwyn,  with  a  passionate  gesture. 
"I  should  know  her  among  a  thousand!" 

For  one  instant  Heliobas  bent  upon  him  a  sudden, 
searching,  almost  pitiful  glance;  then  withdrawing  his 
gaze,  he  said  gently : 

"Well,  well!  let  us  hope  for  the  best;  God's  ways  are 
inscrutable;  and  you  tell  me  that  now — now  after  your 
strange  so-called  'vision' — you  believe  in  God?" 

"I  did  say  so,  certainly,"  and  Alwyn's  face  flushed  a 
little,  "but— " 

"Ah!  you  hesitate!  there  is  a  'but'  in  the  case!"  and 
Heliobas  turned  upon  him  with  a  grand  reproach  in  his 
brilliant  eyes.  "Already  stepping  backward  on  the  road! 
Already  rushing  once  again  into  the  darkness — "  He 
paused ;  then  laying  one  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoul- 
der, continued  in  mild  yet  impressive  accents:  "My 
friend,  remember  that  the  doubter  and  opposer  of  God 
is  also  the  doubter  and  opposer  of  his  own  well-being. 
Let  this  unnatural  and  useless  combat  of  human  reason 
against  divine  instinct  cease  within  you — you,  who  as  a 
poet  are  bound  to  equalize  your  nature,  that  it  may  the 
more  harmoniously  fulfill  its  high  commission.  You  know 
what  one  of  your  modern  writers  says  of  life?  that  it  is 
a  'Dream  ID  which  we  clutch  at  shadows  as  though  they 


AN   UNDES1RF.D  BLESSING  65 

were  substances  and  sleep  deepest  when  fancying  our- 
selves most  awake.'*  Believe  me,  you  have  slept  long 
enough;  it  is  time  you  awoke  to  the  full  realization  oi 
you  destinies." 

Alvvyn  heard  in  silence,  feeling  inwardly  rebuked  and 
h?J.f  ashamed ;  the  earnestly  spoken  words  moved  him 
more  than  he  cared  to  show ;  his  head  drooped — he  made 
no  reply.  After  all,  he  thought,  he  had  really  no  more 
substantial  foundation  for  his  unbelief  than  others  had 
for  their  faith.  With  all  his  studies  in  the  modern 
schools  of  science,  he  was  not  a  whit  more  advanced  in 
learning  than  Democritus  of  old — Democritus  who  based 
his  system  of  morals  on  the  severest  mathematical  lines, 
taking  as  his  starting-point  a  vacuum  and  atoms,  and 
who,  after  stretching  his  intellect  on  a  constant  rack  of 
searching  inquiry  for  years,  came  at  last  to  the  unhappy 
conclusion  that  man  is  absolutely  incapable  of  positive 
knowledge,  and  that  even  if  truth  is  in  his  possession 
he  can  never  be  certain  of  it.  Was  he,  Theos  Alwyn, 
wiser  than  Democritus?  or  was  this  stately  Chaldean 
monk,  with  the  clear,  pathetic  eyes  and  tender  smile,  and 
the  symbol  of  Christ  on  his  breast,  wiser  than  both — 
wiser  in  the  wisdom  of  eternal  things  than  any  of  the 
subtle- minded  ancient  Greek  philosophers  or  modern 
imitators  of  their  theories?  Was  there,  could  there  be 
something  not  yet  altogether  understood  or  fathomed  in 
the  Christian  creed?  As  this  idea  occurred  to  him  he 
looked  up  and  met  his  companion's  calm  gaze  fixed  upon 
him  with  a  watchful  gentleness  and  patience. 

"Are  you  reading  my  thoughts,  Heliobas?"  he  asked 
with  a  forced  laugh.  "I  assure  you  they  are  not  worth 
the  trouble." 

Heliobas  smiled,  but  made  no  answer.  Just  then  one 
of  the  monks  entered  the  room  with  a  large  lighted  lamp, 
which  he  set  on  the  table,  and  the  conversation,  thus  in- 
terrupted, was  not  again  resumed. 

The  evening  shadows  were  now  closing  in  rapidly,  and 
already  above  the  furthest  visible  snow-peak  the  first  risen 
star  sparkled  faintly  in  the  darkening  sky.  Soon  the 
vesper  bell  began  ringing  as  it  had  rung  on  the  previous 
night  when  Alwyn,  newly  arrived,  had  sat  alone  in  the 
refectory,  listlessly  wondering  what  manner  of  men  he 

*    Carlyle's  Sartor  Kesarttu 


66  "ABDATH" 

had  come  among,  and  what  would  be  the  final  result  of 
his  adventure  into  the  wilds  of  Caucasus.  His  feelings 
had  certainly  undergone  some  change  since  then,  inas- 
much as  he  was  no  longer  disposed  to  ridicule  or  con- 
demn religious  sentiment,  though  he  was  nearly  as  far 
from  actually  believing  in  religion  itself  as  ever.  The 
attitude  of  his  mind  was  still  distinctly  skeptical,  the 
immutable  pride  of  what  he  considered  his  own  firmly 
rooted  convictions  was  only  very  slightly  shaken,  and  he 
DOW  even  viewed  the  prospect  of  his  journey  to  the 
"Field  of  Ardath"  as  a  mere  fantastic  whim — a  caprice  of 
his  own  fancy  which  he  chose  to  gratify  just  for  the  sake 
of  curiosity. 

But  notwithstanding  the  stubbornness  of  the  material- 
istic principles  with  which  he  had  become  imbued,  his 
higher  instincts  were,  unconsciously  to  himself,  begin- 
ning to  be  roused  ;  his  memory  involuntarily  wandered 
back  to  the  sweet,  fresh  days  of  his  earliest  manhood  be- 
fore the  poison  of  doubt  had  filtered  through  his  soulj  his 
character,  naturally  of  the  lofty,  imaginative  and  ardent 
cast,  reasserted  its  native  force  over  the  blighting  blow 
of  blank  atheism  which  had  for  a  time  paralyzed  its 
efforts;  and  as  he  unwittingly  yielded  more  and  more  to 
the  mild  persuasion  of  these  genial  influences,  so  the 
former  Timon-like  bitterness  of  his  humor  gradually 
softened.  There  was  no  trace  in  him  now  of  the  da/k, 
ironic  and  reckless  scorn  that,  before  his  recent  visionary 
experience,  had  distinguished  his  whole  manner  and 
bearing  ;  the  smile  came  more  readily  to  his  lips,  and 
he  seemed  content  for  the  present  to  display  the  sunny 
side  of  his  nature — a  nature  impassioned,  frank,  gener- 
ous and  noble,  in  spite  of  the  taint  of  overweening,  am- 
bitious egotism  which  somewhat  warped  its  true  quality 
and  narrowed  the  range  of  its  sympathies.  In  his  then 
frame  of  mind,  a  curious,  vague  sense  of  half  pleasurable 
penitence  was  upon  him;  delicate,  undefined,  almost 
devotional  suggestions  stirred  his  thoughts  with  the  re- 
freshment that  a  cool  wind  brings  to  parched  and  droop- 
ing flowers — so  that  when  Heliobas,  taking  up  the  sil- 
ver "Esdras"  reliquary  and  preparing  to  leave  the  apart- 
ment in  response  to  the  vesper  summons,  said  gently, 
"Will  you  attend  our  service,  Mr.  Alwyn?"  he  assented 
at  once  with  a  pleased  alacrity  which  somewhat  aston- 


AN  UNDESIRED  BLESSING  67 

ished  himself  as  he  remembered  how  on  the  previous 
evening  he  had  despised  and  inwardly  resented  all  forms 
of  religious  observance. 

However,  he  did  not  stop  to  consider  the  reason  of 
his  altered  mood;  he  followed  the  monks  into  chapel 
with  an  air  of  manly  grace  and  quiet  reverence  that  be- 
came him  much  better  than  the  offensive  and  defensive 
demeanor  he  had  erewhile  chosen  to  assume  in  the  same 
prayer  hallowed  place.  He  listened  to  the  impressive 
ceremonial  from  beginning  to  end  without  the  least  ta 
tigue  or  impatience,  and  though  when  the  brethren  knelt 
he  could  not  humble  himself  so  far  as  to  kneel  also,  he 
still  made  a  slight  concession  to  appearances  by  sitting 
down  and  keeping  his  head  in  a  bent  posture,  "out  of 
respect  for  the  good  intentions  of  these  worthy  men, " 
as  he  told  himself  to  silence  the  inner  conflict  of  his  own 
opposing  and  contradictory  sensations.  Th^  service  cpn- 
eluded,  he  waited  as  before  to  see  the  monks  pass  out, 
and  was  smitten  with  a  sudden  surprise,  compunction 
and  regret,  when  Heliobas,  who  walked  last  as  usual, 
paused  where  he  stood,  and  confronted  him,  saying: 

"I  will  bid  you  farewell  here,  my  friend!  I  have  many 
things  to  do  this  evening,  and  it  is  best  I  should  see  you 
no  more  before  your  departure." 

"Why?"  asked  Alwyn,  astonished.  "I  had  hoped  for 
another  conversation  with  you." 

"To  what  purpose?"  inquired  Heliobas  mildly.  "That 
I  should  assert — and  you  deny — facts  that  God  Himself 
will  prove  in  His  own  way  and  at  His  own  appointed 
time?  Nay,  we  should  do  no  good  by  further  argu- 
ments." 

"But,"  stammered  Alwyn  hastily,  flushing  hotly  as  he 
spoke,  "you  give  me  no  chance  to  thank  you,  to  express 
my  gratitude — " 

"Gratitude?"  questioned  Heliobas  almost  mournfully, 
with  a  tinge  of  reproach  in  his  soft,  mellow  voice.  "Are 
you  grateful  for  being,  as  you  think,  deluded  by  a  trance 
— cheated,  as  it  were,  into  a  sort  of  semi-belief  in  the 
life  to  come  by  means  of  mesmerism?  Your  first  request 
to  me,  I  know,  was  that  you  might  be  deceived  by  my 
influence  of  imaginary  happiness,  and  now  you  fancy 
your  last  night's  experience  was  merely  the  result  of 
that  eminently  foolish  desire!  You  are  wrong,  and  as 


68  "ARDATH" 

matters  stand,  no  thanks  are  needed.  If  I  had  indeed 
mesmerized  or  hypnotized  you,  I  might  perhaps  have 
deserved  some  reward  for  the  exertion  ot  my  purely  pro- 
fessional skill,  but,  as  I  have  told  you  already,  I  have 
done  absolutely  nothing.  Your  fate  is,  as  it  has  always 
been,  in  your  own  hands.  You  sought  me  of  your  own 
accord,  you  used  me  as  an  instrument — an  unwilling  in- 
strument, remember — whereby  to  break  open  the  prison 
doors  of  your  chafed  and  fretting  spirit,  and  the  end  of 
it  all  is  that  you  depart  from  hence  to-morrow  of  your 
own  free  will  and  choice,  to  fufill  the  appointed  tryst 
made  with  you,  as  you  believe,  by  a  phantom  in  a  vis- 
ion. In  brief — "  here  he  spoke  more  slowly  and  with 
marked  emphasis — "you  go  to  the  'Field  of  Ardath'  to 
solve  a  puzzling  problem — namely,  as  to  whether  what 
we  call  life  is  not  a  dream  and  whether  a  dream  may 
net  perchance  be  proved  reality  !  In  this  enterprise  of 
yours  I  have  no  share,  nor  will  I  say  more  than  this: 
God  speed  you  on  your  errand!" 

He  held  out  his  hand.  Alwyn  grasped  it,  looking 
earnestly  meanwhile  at  the  fine  intellectual  face,  the 
cleai%  pathetic  eyes,  the  firm  yet  sensitive  mouth,  on 
which  there  just  then  rested  a  serious  yet  kindly  smile. 

"What  a  strange  man  you  are,  Heliobas!"  he  said 
impulsively;  "I  wish  I  knew  more  about  you!" 

Heliobas  gave  him  a  friendly  glance. 

"Wish  rather  that  you  knew  more  about  yourself,"  he 
answered  simply.  "Fathom  your  own  mystery  of  being; 
you  shall  find  none  deeper,  greater,  or  more  difficult  of 
comprehension. " 

Alwyn  still  held  his  hand,  reluctant  to  let  it  go.  Fi- 
nally releasing  it  with  a  slight  sigh,  he  said: 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  though  we  part  now  it  will  not  be 
for  long.  We  must  meet  again!" 

"Why,  if  we  must,  we  shall!"  rejoined  Heliobas  cheer- 
ily. "Must  cannot  be  prevented.  In  the  meantime — fare- 
well!" 

"Farewell!"  and  as  this  word  was  spoken,  their  eyes 
met.  Instinctively  and  on  a  sudden  impulse  Alwyn 
Dowed  his  head  in  the  lowest  and  most  reverential  salu- 
tation he  had  perhaps  ever  made  to  any  creature  of  mor- 
tnl  mold,  and  as  he  did  so  Heliobas  paused  in  the  act 
of  turning  away. 


AN  U    DESIRED  BLESSING  69 

"Do  you  care  for  a  blessing,  gentle  skeptic?"  he  asked 
in  a  soft  tone  that  thrilled  tenderly  through  the  silence 
of  the  dimly  lit  chapel;  then,  receiving  no  reply,  he  laid 
one  hand  gently  on  the  young  man's  dark,  clustering 
curls,  and  with  the  other  slowly  traced  the  sign  of  the 
cross  upon  the  smooth,  broad  fairness  of  his  forehead. 
"Take  it,  my  son — the  only  blessing  I  can  give  thee — the 
blessing  of  the  Cross  of  .Christ,  which  in  spite  of  thy 
desertion  claims  thee,  redeems  thee,  and  will  yet  possess 
thee  for  its  own!" 

And  before  Alwyn  could  recover  from  his  astonishment 
sufficiently  to  interrupt  and  repudiate  this,  to  him,  un- 
desired  form  of  benediction,  Heliobas  had  gone,  and  he 
was  left  alone.  Lifting  his  head,  he  stared  out  into  the 
further  corridor,  down  which  he  just  perceived  a  distant 
glimmer  of  vanishing  white  robes,  and  for  a  moment  he 
was  filled  with  speechless  indignation.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  the  sign  thus  traced  on  his  brow  must  be  actually 
visible,  like  a  red  brand  burnt  into  his  flesh,  and  all  his 
old  and  violent  prejudices  against  Christianity  rushed 
back  upon  him  with  the  resentful  speed  of  once-baffled 
foes  returning  anew  to  storm  a  citadel.  Almost  as  rap- 
idly, however,  his  anger  cooled;  he  remembered  that  in 
his  vision  of  the  previous  night  the  light  that  had  guided 
him  through  the  long,  shadowy  vista  had  always  pre- 
ceded him  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  and  in  a  softer  mood 
he  glanced  at  the  ruby  star  shining  steadily  above  the 
otherwise  darkened  altar.  Involuntarily  the  words  "We 
have  seen  His  star  in  the  east  and  are  come  to  worship 
Him,"  occurred  to  his  memory,  but  he  dismissed  them 
as  instantly  as  they  suggested  themselves,  and  finding 
his  own  thoughts  growing  perplexing  and  troublesome, 
he  hastily  left  the  chapel. 

Joining  some  of  the  monks  who  were  gathered  in  a 
picturesque  group  round  the  fire  in  the  refectory,  he  sat 
chatting  with  them  for  about  half  an  hour  or  so,  hoping 
to  elicit  from  then  in  the  course  of  conversation  some 
particulars  concerning  the  daily  life,  character  and  pro- 
fessing aims  of  their  superior,  but  in  this  attempt  he 
failed.  They  spoke  of  Heliobas  as  believing  men  may 
speak  of  saints,  with  hushed  reverence  and  admiring 
tenderness,  but  on  any  point  connected  with  his  faith  or 
the  spiritual  nature  of  his  theories  they  held  their  peace, 


TO 

f 

evidently  deeming  the  subject  too  sacred  for  discussion. 
Baffled  in  all  his  inquiries,  Alwyn  at  last  said  good-night, 
and  retired  to  rest  in  the  small  sleeping  apartment  pre- 
pared for  his  accommodation,  where  he  enjoyed  a  sound, 
refreshing  and  dreamless  slumber. 

The  next  morning  he  was  up  at  daybreak,  and  long 
before  the  sun  had  risen  above  the  highest  peak  of  Cau- 
casus he  had  departed  from  the  Lars  Monastery,  leaving 
a  handsome  donation  in  the  poor-box  toward  the  various 
charitable  works  in  which  the  brethren  were  engaged, 
such  as  the  rescue  of  travelers  lost  in  the  snow,  or  the 
burial  of  the  many  victims  murdered  on  or  near  the  Pass 
of  Dariel  by  the  bands  of  fierce  mountain  robbers  and 
assassins  that  at  certain  seasons  infest  that  solitary  re- 
gion. Making  the  best  of  his  way  to  the  fortress  of 
Passanaur,  he  there  joined  a  party  of  adventurous  Rus- 
sian climbers  who  had  just  successfully  accomplished 
the  ascent  of  Mount  Kazbek;  and  in  their  company  pro- 
ceeded through  the  rugged  Aragua  valley  to  Tiflis,  which 
he  reached  that  same  evening.  From  this  dark  and  dis- 
mal-looking town,  shadowed  on  all  sides  by  barren  and 
cavernous  hills,  he  dispatched  the  manuscript  of  his 
mysteriously  composed  poem,  together  with  the  letter 
concerning  it,  to  his  friend  Villiers  in  England,  and  then, 
yielding  to  a  burning  sense  of  impatience  within  him- 
self— impatience  that  would  brook  no  delay — he  set  out 
resolutely  and  at  once  on  his  long  pilgrimage  to  the 
"land  of  sand  and  ruin  and  gold,"  the  land  of  terrific 
prophecy  and  stern  fulfillment,  the  land  of  mighty  and 
mournful  memories,  where  the  slow  river  Euphrates 
clasps  in  its  dusky  yellow  ring  the  ashes  of  great  king- 
doms fallen  to  rise  no  more. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BY  THE  WATERS  OF    BABYLON. 

IT  was  no  light  or  easy  journey  he  had  thus  rashly 
undertaken  on  the  faith  of  a  dream — for  dream  he  still 
believed  it  to  be.  Many  weary  days  and  nights  were 
consumed  in  the  comfortless  tedmm  of  travel;  and 


BY  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON  7* 

though  he  constantly  told  himself  what  unheard-of  fplJy 
it  was  to  pursue  an  illusive  chimera  of  his  own  imagina- 
tion—a mere  phantasm  which  had  somehow  or  other 
taken  posession  of  his  brain  at  a  time  when  that  brain 
must  have  been  acted  upon  (so  he  continued  to  think) 
by  strong  mesmeric  or  magnetic  influence — he  went  on 
his  way  all  the  same  with  a  sort  of  dogged  obstinacy 
which  no  fatigue  could  daunt  or  lessen.  He  never  lay 
down  to  rest  without  the  faint  hope  of  seeing  once  again, 
if  only  in  sleep,  the  radiant  being  whose  haunting  words 
had  sent  him  on  this  quest  of  "Ardath,"  but  herein  his 
expectations  were  not  realized.  No  more  flower-crowned 
angels  floated  before  him;  no  sweet  whisper  of  love, 
encouragement,  or  promise  came  mysteriously  on  his 
ears  in  the  midnight  silences;  his  slumbers  were  always 
profound  and  placid  as  those  of  a  child,  and  utterly 
dreamless. 

One  consolation  he  had,  however — he  could  write. 
Not  a  day  passed  without  his  finding  some  new  inspira- 
tion—some fresh  quaint,  and  lovely  thought,  that  flowed 
of  itself  into  most  perfect  and  rhythmical  utterance;  glo- 
rious lines  of  verse,  glowing  with  fervor  and  beauty, 
seemed  to  fall  from  his  pencil  without  any  effort  on  his 
part  ;  and  if  he  had  had  reason  in  former  times  to  doubt 
the  strength  of  his  poetical  faculty,  it  was  now  very 
certain  he  could  do  so  no  longer.  His  mind  was  as  a 
fine  harp  newly  strung,  attuned,  and  quivering  with  the 
consciousness  of  the  music  pent  up  within  it,  and  as  he 
remembered  the  masterpiece  of  poesy  he  had  written  in 
his  seeming  trance,  the  manuscript  of  which  would  soon 
be  in  the  hands  of  the  London  publishers,  his  heart 
swelled  with  a  growing  and  irrepressible  sense  of  pride. 
For  he  knew  and  felt,  with  an  undefinable  yet  positive 
certainty,  that  however  much  the  public  or  the  critic 
might  gainsay  him,  his  fame  as  a  poet  of  the  very  high- 
est order  would  ere  long  be  asserted  and  assured.  A  deep 
tranquility  was  in  his  soul— a  tranquility  that  seemed 
to  increase  the  further  he  went  onward;  the  restless 
weariness  that  had  once  possessed  him  was  past,  and  a 
vaguely  sweet  content  pervaded  his  being,  like  the  odor 
of  "early  roses  pervading  warm  air.  He  felt,  he  hoped, 
he  loved,  and  yet  his  feelings,  hopes  and  longings  turned 
to  something  altogether  undeclared  and  indefinite,  as 


;a  "ARDATH" 

softly  dim  and  distant  as  the  first  faint   white  cloud-sig 
nal  wafted  from  the  moon  in  heaven,  when,  on  the  point 
of  rising,  she  makes  her   queenly  purpose   known  to  her 
waiting  star-attendants. 

Practically  considered,  his  journey  was  tedious  and 
for  the  most  part  dull  and  uninteresting.  In  these  Satan- 
like  days  of  "going  to  and  fro  in  the  earth  and  walking 
up  and  down  in  it,"  traveling  has  lost  much  of  its  old 
romantic  charm;  the  idea  of  traversing  long  distances 
no  more  fills  the  expectant  adventurer  with  a  pleasurable 
sense  of  uncertainty  and  mystery;  he  knows  exactly  what 
to  anticipate;  it  is  all  laid  out  for  him  plainly  on  the 
level  lines  of  the  commonplace,  and  nothing  is  left  to 
his  imagination.  The  continent  of  Europe  has  been  ran- 
sacked from  end  to  end  by  tourists  who  have  turned  it 
into  a  sort  of  exhausted  pleasure-garden,  whereof  the 
various  entertainments  are  too  familiarly  known  to  arouse 
any  fresh  curiosity;  the  East  is  nearly  in  the  same  con- 
dition; hordes  of  British  and  American  sight-seers  scam- 
per over  the  empire-strewn  soil  of  Persia  and  Syria  with 
the  unconcerned  indifference  of  beings  to  whom  not  only 
a  portion  of  the  world's  territory,  but  a  whole  world  itself, 
belongs;  and  soon  there  will  not  be  an  inch  of  ground 
left  on  the  narrow  extent  of  our  poor  planet  that  has  not 
been  trodden  by  the  hasty,  scrambling,  irreverent  foot- 
steps of  some  one  or  other  of  the  ever  prolific,  all-spread- 
ing English  speaking  race. 

On  his  way  Alwyn  met  many  of  his  countrymen,  trav- 
elers who,  like  himself,  had  visited  the  Caucasus  and 
Armenia,  and  were  now  en  route  some  for  Damascus, 
some  for  Jerusalem  and  the  Holy  Land;  others  again  for 
Cairo  and  Alexandria,  to  depart  from  thence  homeward 
by  the  usual  Mediterranean  line ;  but  among  these  birds- 
of-passage  acquaintance  he  chanced  upon  none  who  were 
going  to  the  ruins  of  Babylon.  He  was  glad  of  this, 
for  the  peculiar  nature  of  his  enterprise  rendered  a  com- 
panion altogether  undesirable;  and  though  on  one  occa- 
sion he  encountered  a  gentleman  novelist  with  a  note- 
book, who  was  exceedingly  anxious  to  fraternize  with 
him  and  discover  whither  he  was  bound,  he  succeeded 
in  shaking  off  this  would-be  incubus  at  Mosul,  by  tak- 
ing him  to  a  wonderful  old  library  in  that  city  where 
there  were  a  number  of  French  translations  of  Turkish 


BY  THE  WATERS   OF   BABYLON  73 

Syriac  romances.  Here  the  gentleman-novelist 
straightway  ascended  to  the  seventh  heaven  of  piagiar- 
ism,and  began  to  copy  energetically  whole  scenes  and  des- 
criptive passages  from  dead-and-gone  authors,  unknown 
to  English  critics,  for  the  purpose  of  inserting  them 
hereafter  into  his  own  "original"  work  of  fiction;  and  in 
his  congenial  occupation  he  forgot  all  about  the  "dark, 
handsome  man,  with  the  wide  brows  of  a  Marc  Antony 
and  the  lips  of  a  Catullus,"  as  he  had  already  described 
Alwyn  in  the  note-book  before  mentioned.  While  in 
Mosul,  Alwyn  picked  up  a  curiosity  in  the  way  of  liter- 
ature, a  small  quaint  volume  entitled  "The  Final  Philos- 
ophy of  Algazzali  the  Arabian."  It  was  printed  in  two 
languages,  the  original  Arabic  on  one  page  and,  facing 
it,  the  translation,  in  very  old  French.  The  author,  born 
A.  D.  1058,  described  himself  as  "a  poor  student  striv- 
ing to  discern  the  truth  of  things,"  and  his  work  was  as 
serious,  incisive,  patiently  exhaustive  inquiry  into  the 
workings  of  nature,  the  capabilities  of  human  intelli- 
gence, and  the  deceptive  results  of  human  reason.  Read- 
ing it,  Alwyn  was  astonished  to  find  that  nearly  all  the 
ethical  propositions  offered  for  the  world's  consideration 
to-day  by  the  most  learned  and  cultured  minds,  had  been 
already  advanced  and  thoroughly  discussed  by  this  same 
Algazzali.  One  passage  in  particular  arrested  his  atten- 
tion as  being  singulary  applicable  to  his  own  immediate 
condition  ;  it  ran  as  follows  : 

'I  began  to  examine  the  objects  of  sensation  and 
speculation,  to  see  if  they  could  possibly  admit  of  doubt. 
Then  doubts  crowded  upon  me  in  such  numbers  that 
my  incertitude  became  complete.  Whence  results  the 
confidence  I  have  in  sensible  things?  The  strongest  of 
all  our  senses  is  sight,  yet  if  we  look  at  the  stars  they 
seem  to  be  as  small  as  money-pieces;  but  mathematical 
proofs  convince  us  that  they  are  larger  than  the  earth. 
These  and  other  things  are  judged  by  the  senses,  but 
rejected  by  reason  as  false.  I  abandoned  the  senses,  there- 
fore, having  seen  my  confidence  in  their  absolute  truth 
shaken.  Perhaps,  said  I,  there  is  no  assurance  but  in 
the  notions  of  reason — that  is  to  say,  first  principles,  as 
that  ten  is  more  than  three?  Upon  this  the  senses  re- 
plied: What  assurance  have  you  that  your  confidence  in 
reason  is  not  of  the  same  nature  as  your  confidence  in 


74  "ARDATH" 

us?  When  you  relied  on  us,  reason  stepped  in  and 
gave  us  the  lie;  had  not  reason  been  there  you  would 
have  continued  to  rely  on  us.  Well,  may  there  not  exist 
some  other  judge  superior  to  reason  who,  if  he  ap- 
peared, would  refute  the  judgments  of  reason  in  the  same 
way  that  reason  refuted  us?  The  non-appearance  of  such 
a  judge  is  no  proof  of  his  non-existence!  I  strove  to 
answer  this  objection,  and  my  difficulties  increased  when 
I  came  to  reflect  on  sleep.  I  said  to  myself :  During 
sleep  you  give  to  visions  a  reality  and  consistence,  and 
on  awakening  you  are  made  aware  that  they  were  nothing 
but  visions.  What  assurance  have  you  that  all  you  feel 
and  know  does  actually  exist?  It  is  all  true  as  respects 
your  condition  at  the  moment,  but  it  is  nevertheless  pos- 
sible that  another  condition  should  present  itself  which 
should  be  to  your  awakened  state  that  which  your  awak- 
ened state  is  now  to  your  sleep,  so  that  as  respects  this 
higher  condition  your  waking  is  but  sleep. " 

Over  and  over  again  Alwyn  read  these  words  and  pon- 
dered on  the  deep  and  difficult  problems  they  suggested, 
and  he  was  touched  by  an  odd  sense  of  shamed  com- 
punction, when,  at  the  close  of  the  book,  he  came  upon 
Algazzali's  confession  of  utter  vanquishment  and  hu- 
mility thus  simply  recorded: 

"I  examined  my  actions,  and  found  the  best  were  those 
relating  to  instruction  and  education,  and  even  there  I 
saw  myself  given  up  to  unimportant  sciences  all  useless 
in  another  world.  Reflecting  on  the  aim  of  my  teaching, 
I  found  it  was  not  pure  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord.  I  saw 
that  all  my  efforts  were  directed  toward  the  acquisition 
of  glory  to  myself.  Having  therefore  distributed  my 
wealth,  I  left  Bagdad  and  retired  into  Syria,  where  I 
remained  in  solitary  struggle  with  my  soul,  combating 
my  passion,  and  exercising  myself  in  the  purifica- 
tion of  my  heart  and  in  preparation  for  the  other 
world.  '* 

This  ancient  philosophical  treatise,  together  with  the 
mystical  passage  from  the  original  text  of  Esdras  and 
the  selected  verses  from  the  Apocrypha,  formed  alJ 
Alwyn's  stock  of  reading  for  the  rest  of  his  journey;  the 
rhapsodical  lines  of  the  prophet  he  knew  by  heart  as  one 
knows  a  favorite  poem,  and  he  often  caught  himself  un.. 
consciously  repeating  the  strange  words: 


§Y  THE  WATERS  OF  BABYLON  75 

"Behold  the  field  thou  thoughtest  barren,  how  great  a  glory  hath  the 
moon  unveiled! 

"And  I  beheld  and  was  sore  amazed:  for  I  was  no  longer  myself  but 
another. 

'  'And  the  s%vord  of  death  was  in  that  other's  soul,  and  yet  that  other 
was  but  myself  in  pain; 

"And  I  knew  not  those  things  that  were  once  familiar,  and  my  heart 
failed  within  me  for  very  fear." 

What  did  they  mean?  he  wondered,  or  had  they  any 
meaning  at  all  beyond  the  faint,  far-off  suggestions  of 
thought,  that  may  occasionally  and  with  difficulty  be  dis- 
cerned through  obscure  and  reckless  ecstasies  of  Ian- 
guage  which,  "full  of  sound  and  fury,  signify  nothing?" 
Was  there,  could  there  be  anything  mysterious  or  sacred 
in  this  "waste  field"  anciently  known  as  "Ardath?" 
These  questions  flitted  hazily  from  time  to  time  through 
his  brain,  but  he  made  no  attempt  to  answer  them  either 
by  refutation  or  reason;  indeed,  sober,  matter  of-fact 
reason,  he  was  well  aware,  played  no  part  in  his  present 
undertaking. 

It  was  late  ia  the  afternoon  of  a  sultry,  parching  day 
when  he  at  last  arrived  at  Hillah.  This  dull  little  town, 
built  at  the  beginning  of  the  twelfth  century  out  of  the 
then  plentifully  scattered  fragments  of  Babylon,  has 
nothing  to  offer  to  the  modern  traveler  save  various  an- 
noyances in  the  shape  of  excessive  heat,  dust — or  rather 
fine  blown  sand — dirt,  flies,  bad  food  and  general  dis- 
comfort; and  finding  the  aspect  of  the  place  not  only 
untempting  but  positively  depressing,  Alwyn  left  his 
surplus  luggage  at  a  small  and  unpretentious  hostelry 
kept  by  a  Frenchman  who  catered  specially  for  archaeo- 
logical tourists  and  explorers,  and,  after  an  hour's  rest, 
set  out  alone  and  on  foot  for  the  "eastern  quarter"  of 
the  ruins,  namely,  those  which  are  considered  by  inves- 
tigators to  begin  about  two  miles  above  Hillah.  A  little 
beyond  them  and  close  to  the  river-bank,  according  to 
the  directions  he  had  received,  dwelt  the  religious  recluse 
for  whom  he  brought  the  letter  of  introduction  from 
Heliobas — a  letter  bearing  on  its  cover  a  superscription 
in  Latin,  which,  translated,  ran  thus:  "To  the  venerable 
and  much  esteemed  Elze"ar  of  Melyana,  at  the  Hermitage, 
near  Hillah.  In  faith,  peace  and  good-will  Greeting." 
Anxious  to  reach  Elzear's  abode  before  nightfall,  he 
walked  on  as  briskly  as  the  heat  and  heaviness  of  the 


sandy  soil  would  allow,  keeping  to  the  indistinctly  traced 
path  that  crossed  and  recrossed  at  intervals  the  various 
ridges  of  earth  strewn  with  pulverized  fragments  of  brick, 
bitumen  and  potter)',  which  are  now  the  sole  remains 
of  stately  buildings  once  famous  in  Babylon. 

A  low,  red  sun  was  sinking  slowly  on  the  edge  of  the 
horizon,  when,  pausing  to  look  about  him,  he  perceived 
in  the  near  distance  the  dark  outline  of  the  great  mound 
known  as  Birs-Nimroud,  and  realized  with  a  sort  oi 
shock  that  he  was  actually  surrounded  on  all  sides  I) 
the  crumbled  and  almost  indistinguishable  ruins  of  the 
formerly  superb,  all-dominant  Assyrian  city  that  had 
been  "as  a  golden  cup  in  the  Lord's  hand,"  and  was  now 
no  more  in  very  truth  than  a  "broken  and  an  empty 
vessel."  For  the  words,  "And  Babylon  shall  become 
heaps,"  have  certainly  been  verified  with  startling  exact 
itude;  "heaps"  indeed  it  has  become — nothing  but  heaps; 
heaps  of  dull  earth,  with  here  and  there  a  few  faded  green 
tufts  of  wild  tamarisk,  which,  while  faintly  relieving  the 
blankness  of  the  ground,  at  the  same  time  intensify  its 
monotonous  dreariness.  Alwyn,  beholding  the  mournful 
desolation  of  the  scene,  felt  a  strong  sense  of  disappoint- 
ment; he  had  expected  something  different;  his  imagi- 
nation had  pictured  these  historical  ruins  as  being  oi 
larger  extent  and  more  imposing  character.  His  eyes 
rested  rather  wearily  on  the  slow,  dull  gleam  of  the  Eu- 
phrates, as  it  wound  past  the  deserted  spaces  where  "the 
mighty  city,  the  astonishment  of  nations"  had  once 
stood,  and,  poet  though  he  was  to  the  very  core  of  his 
nature,  he  could  see  nothing  poetical  in  these  spectral 
mounds  and  stone  heaps,  save  in  the  significant  remem- 
brance they  offered  of  the  old  Scriptural  prophecy:  "Baby 
Ion  is  fallen— is  fallen!  Her  princes,  her  wise  men,  her 
captains,  her  rulers,  and  her  mighty  men  shall  sleep  a 
perpetual  sleep  and  not  wake,  saith  the  King  who  is  the 
Lord  of  Hosts."  And  truly  it  seemed  as  if  the  curse 
which  had  blighted  the  city's  by-gone  splendor  had 
doomed  even  its  ruins  to  appear  contemptible. 

Just  then  the  glow  of  the  disappearing  sun  touched 
the  upper  edge  of  Birs-Nimroud,  giving  it  for  one  instant 
a  weird  effect,  as  though  the  ghost  of  some  Babylonian 
watchman  were  waving  a  lit  torch  from  its  summit;  but 
the  lurid  glare  soon  faded,  and  a  dead  gray  twilight  &et- 


* 
1Y  THE  WATERS   OF  BABYLOM  77 

tied  solemnly  down  over  the  melancholy  landscape.  With 
a  sudden  feeling  of  dejection  and  lassitude  upon  him, 
Alwyn,  heaving  a  deep  sigh,  went  onward,  and  soon  per- 
ceived, lying  a  little  to  the  north  of  the  river,  a  small 
roughly  erected  tenement  with  a  wooden  cross  on  its 
roof.  Rightly  concluding  that  this  must  be  Elz6ar  of 
Melyana's  hermitage,  he  quickly  made  his  way  thither 
and  knocked  at  the  door. 

It  was  opened  to  him  at  once  by  a  white-haired,  pic- 
turesque old  man,  who  received  him  with  a  mute  sign 
of  welcome,  and  who  at  the  same  time  laid  one  hand 
lightly  but  expressively  on  his  own  lips  to  signify  that 
he  was  dumb.  This  was  Elze"ar  himself.  He  was  attired 
in  the  same  sort  of  flowing  garb  as  that  worn  by  the  monks 
of  Dariel;  and  with  his  tall,  spare  figure,  long  silvery 
beard,  and  deep-sunken  yet  still  brilliant  dark  eyes,  he 
might  have  served  as  a  perfect  model  for  one  of  the  in- 
spired prophets  of  by-gone,  ancient  days.  Though  Nature 
had  deprived  him  of  speech,  his  serene  countenance  spoke 
eloquently  in  his  favor,  its  mild,  benevolent  expression 
betokening  that  inward  peace  of  the  heart  which  so  often 
renders  old  age  more  beautiful  than  youth.  He  perused 
with  careful  slowness  the  letter  Alwyn  presented  to  him, 
and  then,  inclining  his  head  gravely,  he  made  a  courte- 
ous and  comprehensive  gesture,  to  intimate  that  himself 
and  all  that  his  house  contained  were  at  the  service  of 
the  new-comer.  He  proceeded  to  testify  the  sincerity 
of  his  assurance  at  once  by  setting  a  plentiful  supply  of 
food  and  wine  before  his  guest,  waiting  upon  him,  more- 
over, while  he  ate  and  drank,  with  a  respectful  humility 
which  somewhat  embarrassed  Alwyn,  who  wished  to 
spare  him  the  trouble  of  such  attendance  and  told  him 
so  many  times  with  much  earnestness.  But  all  to  no 
purpose;  Elze"ar  only  smiled  gently  and  continued  to  per- 
form the  duties  of  hospitality  in  his  own  way;  it  was  evi- 
dently no  use  interfering  with  him.  Later  on  he  showed 
his  visitor  a  small  cell-like  apartment  containing  a  neat 
bed,  together  with  a  table,  a  chair,  and  a  large  crucifix, 
which  latter  object  was  suspended  against  the  wall,  and 
indicating  by  eloquent  signs  that  here  the  weariest  trav- 
eler might  find  good  repose,  he  made  a  low  salutation  and 
leparted  altogether  for  the  night. 

What  a  still  plaoe,  the  "Hermitage"  was, thought  Alwyn, 


78 

as  soon  as  Elz£ar's  retreating  steps  had  died  away  into 
silence.  There  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  anywhere, 
not  even  the  faint  rustle  of  leaves  stirred  by  the  wind. 
And  what  a  haunting,  grave,  wistfully  tender  expres- 
sion filled  the  face  of  that  sculptured  image  on  the  cross, 
which,  in  intimate  companionship  with  himself,  seemed 
to  possess  the  little  room!  He  could  not  bear  the 
down-drooping,  appealing,  penetrating  look  in  those 
heavenly-kind  yet  piteous  eyes;  turning  abruptly  away, 
he  opened  the  narrow  window  and  folding  his  arms  on 
the  sill,  surveyed  the  scene  before  him.  The  full  mcon 
was  rising  slowly;  round  and  large,  she  hung  like  a  yel- 
low shield  on  the  dark,  dense  wall  of  the  sky.  The  ruins 
of  Babylon  were  plainly  visible,  the  river  shone  like  a 
golden  ribbon,  the  outline  of  Birs-Nimroud  was  faintly 
rimmed  with  light,  and  had  little  streaks  of  amber  ra- 
diance wandering  softly  up  and  down  its  shadowy  slopes. 
"And  I  went  into  the  field  called  'Ardath,'  and  there 
I  sat  among  the  flowers!"  mused  Alwyn  half  aloud,  his 
dreamy  gaze  fixed  on  the  gradually  brightening  heavens. 
"Why  not  go  there  at  once — now?" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  FIELD  OF  FLOWERS. 

THIS  idea  had  no  sooner  entered  his  mind  than  he  pre 
pared  to  act  upon  it,  though  only  a  short  while  previously, 
feeling  thoroughly  overcome  by  fatigue,  he  had  resolved 
to  wait  till  next  day  before  setting  out  for  the  chief  goal 
of  his  long  pilgrimage.  But  now,  strangely  enough,  all 
sense  of  weariness  had  suddenly  left  him  ;  a  keen  impa- 
tience burned  in  his  veins,  and  a  compelling  influence 
stronger  than  himself  seemed  to  lure  him  on  to  the  in- 
stant fulfillment  of  his  purpose.  The  more  he  thought 
about  it  the  more  restless  he  became,  and  the  more 
eagerly  desirous  to  prove,  with  the  least  possible  delay, 
the  truth  or  the  falsity  of  his  mystic  vision  at  Dariel. 
By  the  light  of  the  small  lamp  left  on  the  table  he  con- 
sulted his  map — the  map  Heliobas  had  traced-— and  also 


THE  FIELD  OF  FLOWERS  79 

the  written  directions  that  accompanied  it,  though  these 
he  had  read  so  often  over  and  over  again  that  he  knew 
them  by  heart.  They  were  simply  and  concisely  worded 
thus:  "On  the  east  bank  of  the  Euphrates,  nearly  oppo- 
site the  'Hermitage,'  there  is  the  sunken  fragment  of  a 
bronze  gate,  formerly  belonging  to  the  palace  of  the 
Babylonian  kings.  Three  miles  and  a  half  to  the  south- 
west of  this  fragment  and  in  a  direct  line  with  it,  straight 
across  the  country,  will  be  found  a  fallen  pillar  of  red 
granite  half  buried  in  the  earth.  The  square  tract  of 
land  extending  beyond  this  broken  column  is  the  field 
known  to  the  prophet  Esdras  as  the  Field  of  Ardath." 

He  was  on  the  bank  of  the  Euphrates  already, and  a  walk 
of  three  miles  and  a  half  could  surely  be  accomplished 
in  an  hour  or  very  little  over  that  time.  Hesitating  no 
longer,  he  made  his  way  out  of  the  house,  deciding  that 
if  he  met  Elze"ar  he  would  say  he  was  going  for  a  moon- 
light stroll  before  retiring  to  rest.  That  venerable  re- 
cluse, however,  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  and  as  the  door 
of  the  "Hermitage"  was  only  fastened  with  a  light  latch 
he  had  no  difficulty  in  effecting  a  noiseless'exit.  Once 
in  the  open  air  he  stopped,  startled  by  the  sound  of  full, 
fresh  youthful  voices  singing  in  cle^r  and  harmonious 
unison,  "Kyrie  eleison!  Chris te  eleison!  Kyrie  eleison.'' 
He  listened,  looking  everywhere  about  him  in  utter 
amazement.  There  was  no  habitation  in  sight  save 
Elzear's,  and  the  chorus  certainly  did  not  proceed  from 
thence,  but  rather  seemed  to  rise  upward  through  the 
earth,  floating  in  released,  sweet  echoes  to  and  fro  upon 
the  hushed  air.  "Kyrie  eleison!  Christe  eleison!"  how  it 
swayed  about  him  like,  close  chime  of  bells! 

He  stood  motionless,  perplexed,  and  wondering;  was 
there  a  subterranean  grotto  near  at  hand  where  devotional 
chants  were  sung?  or— and  a  slight  tremor  ran  through 
him  at  the  thought— was  there  something  supernatural 
in  the  music,  notwithstanding  its  human-seeming  speech 
and  sound?  Just  then  it  ceased;  all  was  again  silent 
as  before,  and  angry  with  himself  for  his  own  foolish 
fancies,  he  set  about  the  task  of  discovering  the  "sunken 
fragmont"  Heliobas  had  mentioned.  Very  soon  he 
found  it,  driven  deep  into  the  soil,  and  so  blackened 
and  defaced  by  time  that  it  was  impossible  to  trace  any 
of  the  elaborate  carvings  th.it  must  have  once  ' 


OO  "ARDATH*1 

it.     In  fact,  it  would  not  have  been  recognizable  as  the 
portion  of  a  gate  at    all,    had    it  not    still    possessed  an 
enormous  hinge  which    partly    clung    to  it  by    means  of 
one  huge,  thickly  rusted  nail.      Close    beside    it   grew   a 
tree  of  weird  and  melancholy  appearance;    its  trunk    was 
split    asunder    and    one  half    of  it    was    withered.      The 
other  half,  leaning    mournfully  on  one   side,  bent    down 
its  branches  to  the  ground,    trailing    a    wealth  of    long, 
glossy  green  leaves  in  the  dust  of  the  ruined  city.     This 
was  the  famous    tree    called    by    the    natives    Athela,  of 
which  old  legends  say  that  it  used  to  be  a  favorite  ever- 
green much  cultivated  and  prized  by  the  Babylonian  no- 
bility, who,  loving  its  shade,  spared  no  pains  to  make  it 
grow    in    their    hanging    gardens    and    spacious    courts, 
though  its  nature  was  altogether  foreign  to  the  so^l.   And 
now,  with  none  to  tend  it,  or   care    whether  it  flourishes 
or  decays,  it  faithfully  clings  to  the  deserted  spot  where 
it  was  once  so  tenderly  fostered,  showing    its   sympathy 
with  the    surrounding    desolation,  by    growing  always  in 
split  halves, one  withered  and  one  green— a  broken-hearted 
creature,  yet    loyal    to  the  memory  of  past  love  and  joy. 
Alwyn  stood  under  its  dark  boughs,  knowing  nothing  of 
its  name  or  history ;  every  now  and  then  a  wailing  whis- 
per seemed  to  shudder  through    it,  though    there  was  no. 
wind,  and  he  heard    the    eerie    lamenting    sigh    with  art 
involuntary  sense  of  awe.   The  whole  scene  was  far  more- 
impressive  by    night    than    by    day.     The    great    earth- 
mounds  of  Babylon  looked  like  giant  graves  enclosed  in, 
a  glittering  ring  of  winding  waters.   Again  he  examined' 
the  embedded  fragment    of    the    ancient    gate,  and  theni 
feeling  quite  certain  of  his  starting  point,  he  set  his  face 
steadily  toward  the    southwest;  there  the    landscape  be- 
fore him  lay  flat    and    bare    in  the  beamy    luster    of  the 
moon.   The  soil  was  sandy  and  heavy  to  the  tread;    more- 
over,  it  was  an  excessively  hot    night — too  hot    to  walk 
fast.      He  glanced  at    his    watch;  it    was  a    few  minutes 
past  ten  o'clock.      Keeping    up    the    moderate    pace  the 
heat  enforced,  it  was  possible  he  might    reach  the    mys- 
terious field  about  half  past  eleven,  perhaps  earlier.   And 
now  his  nerves  began  to  quiver  with    strong  excitement- 
had  he  yielded  to    the    promptings  of    his  own    feverish 
impatience,  he  would  most  probably  have  run  all  the  way 
in  spite  of  the  sultriness  of    the  air;   but    he    restrained 


THE  FIELD  OF  FLOWERS  8l 

this  impulse,  and  walked  leisurely  on  purpose,  reproach 
iug    himsulf   as    he    went  along  for    the    utter   absurdity 
of  his  expectations. 

"Was  ever  madman  more  mad  than  I?"  he  murmured 
with  some  self-contempt.  "What  logical  human  being 
in  his  right  mind  would  be  guilty  of  such  egregious 
folly!  But  am  I  logical?  Certainly  not!  Am  I  in  my 
right  mind?  I  think  I  am — yet  I  may  be  wrong.  The 
question  remains,  what  is  logic?  and  what  is  being  in 
one's  right  mind?  No  one  can  absolutely  decide!  Let 
me  see  if  I  can  review  calmly  my  ridiculous  position. 
It  comes  to  this:  I  insist  on  being  mesmerized — I  have 
a  dream — and  I  see  a  woman  in  the  dream" — here  he 
suddenly  corrected  himself — "a  woman  did  I  say?  No! 
she  was  something  far  more  than  that!  A  lovely  phan- 
tom, a  dazzling  creature  of  my  own  imagination,  an  ex- 
quisite ideal  whom  I  will  one  day  immortalize — yes — 
immortalize  in  song!" 

He  raised  his  eyes,  as  he  spoke>  to  the  dusky  firmament 
thickly  studded  with  stars,  and  just  then  caught  sight  of 
a  fleecy,  silver-rimmed  cloud  passing  swiftly  beneath 
the  moon  and  floating  downward  toward  earth;  it  was 
shaped  like  a  white-winged  bird,  and  was  here  and  there 
tenderly  streaked  with  pink  as  though  it  had  just  trav- 
eled from  some  distant  land  where  the  sun  was  rising. 
It  was  the  only  cloud  in  the  sky,  and  it  had  a  peculiar, 
almost  phenomenal  effect  by  reason  of  its  rapid  motion, 
there  being  not  the  faintest  breeze  stirring.  Alwyn 
watched  it  gliding  down  the  heavens  till  it  had  entirely 
disappeared,  and  then  began  his  meditations  anew. 

"Any  one  even  without  magnetic  influence  being  brought 
to  bear  upon  him  might  have  visions  such  as  mine!  Take 
an  opium-eater,  for  instance,  whose  life  is  one  long  con- 
fused vista  of  visions;  suppose  he  were  to  accept  all  the 
wild  suggestions  offered  to  his  drugged  brain,  and  per- 
sist in  following  them  out  to  some  sort  of  definite  con- 
clusion, the  only  place  for  that  man  would  be  a  lunatic 
asylum.  Even  the  most  ordinary  persons,  whose  minds 
are  never  excited  in  any  abnormal  way,  are  subject  to 
very  curious  and  inexplicable  dreams,  but  for  all  that, 
they  are  not  such  fools  as  to  believe  in  them.  True, 
there  is  my  poem,  I  don't  know  how  I  wrote  it,  yet 
written  it  is,  and  complete  from  beginning  to  end;  an 


82  "ARDATH" 

actua*  tangible  result  of  my  vision,  and  strange  enouf  n 
in  its  way,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  But  what  is  stranger 
still,  that  I  love  the  radiant  phantom  that  I  saw — yes,  actu- 
ally love  her  with  a  love  no  mere  woman,  were  she  tair 
as  Troy's  Helen,  could  ever  arouse  in  me!  Of  course — in 
spite  of  the  contrary  assertions  made  by  that  remarkably 
interesting  Chaldean  monk,  Heliobas — I  feel  I  am  the  vic- 
tim of  a  brain  delusion;  therefore,  it  is  just  as  well  I 
should  see  this  'Field  of  Ardath'  and  satisfy  myself  that 
nothing  comes  of  it,  in  which  case  I  shall  be  cured  of 
my  craze." 

He  walked  on  for  some  time,  and  presently  stopped  a 
moment  to  examine  his  map  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
As  he  did  so,  he  became  aware  of  the  extraordinary,  al- 
most terrible  stillness  surrounding  him.  He  had  thought 
the  "Hermitage"  silent  as  a  closed  tomb,  but  it  was 
nothing  to  the  silence  here.  He  felt  it  inclosing  him 
like  a  thick  wall  on  all  sides;  he  heard  the  regular  pul- 
sations of  his  own  heart — even  the  rushing  of  his  own 
blood — but  no  other  sound  was  audible.  Earth  and  the 
air  seemed  breathless,  as  though  with  some  pent-up  mys- 
terious excitement;  the  stars  were  like  so-  many  large 
living  eyes  eagerly  gazing  down  on  the  solitary  human 
being  who  thus  wandered  at  night  in  the  land  of  the 
prophets  of  old;  the  moon  itself  appeared  to  stare  at 
him  in  open  wonderment.  He  grew  uncomfortably  con- 
scious of  this  speechless  watchfulness  of  nature;  he 
strained  his  ears  to  listen,  as  it  were,  to  the  deepening 
dumbness  of  all  existing  things,  and  to  conquer  the 
strange  sensations  that  were  overcoming  him ;  he  pro- 
ceeded at  a  more  rapid  pace,  but  in  two  or  three  min- 
utes came  again  to  an  abrupt  halt.  For  there  in  front 
of  him,  right  across  his  path,  lay  the  fallen  pillar  which, 
according  to  Heliobas,  marked  the  boundary  of  the  field 
he  sought!  Another  glance  at  his  map  decided  the  posi- 
tion; he  had  reached  his  journey's  end  at  last!  What 
was  the  time?  He  looked — it  was  just  twenty  minutes 
past  eleven. 

A  curious,  unnatural  calmness  suddenly  possessed  him  ; 
he  surveyed  with  a  quiet,  almost  cold  unconcern,  the 
prospect  before  him — a  wide,  level  square  of  land  cov- 
ered with  tufts  of  coarsest  grass  and  clumps  of  wild  tarn- 
arisk — nothing  more.  This  was  the  "Field  of  Ardatb" 


FIELD  OF  FLOWERS  83 

this  bare,  unlovely  wilderness  without  so  much  as  a  tree 
to  grace  its  outline!  F/om  where  he  stood  ha  could  view 
its  whole  extent,  and  a?  he.  Dsiidld  its  complete  desola- 
tion he  smiled — a  fain.,  iiaii- cuter  smile.  He  thought 
of  the  words  in  the  ancient  took  of  "Esdras:"  "And  the 
angel  bade  me  enter  a  wa^e  field,  and  the  field  was 
barren  and  dry  save  of  herbs,  and  the  name  of  the  field 
was  'Ardath.'  And  I  wandered  therein  through  the 
hours  of  the  long  night,  and  the  silver  eyes  of  the  field 
did  open  before  me,  and  therein  I  saw  signs  and  won- 
ders." 

"Yes,  the  field  is  'barren  and  dry'  enough  in  all  con- 
science!" he  murmured  listlessly.  "But  as  for  the  'silver 
eyes/  and  the  'signs  and  wonders,'  they  must  have  ex. 
isted  only  in  the  venerable  prophet's  imagination,  just  as 
my  flower-crowned  angel-maiden  exists  in  mine.  Well 
now,  Theos  Alwyn, "  he  continued,  apostrophizing  him- 
self aloud,  "are  you  contented?  Are  you  quite  convinced 
of  your  folly?  and  do  you  acknowledge  that  a  fair  dream 
is  as  much  of  a  lie  and  a  cheat  as  all  the  other  fair- 
seeming  things  that  puzzle  and  torture  poor  human  na- 
ture? Return  to  your  former  condition  of  reasoning  and 
reasonable  skepticism,  ay,  ven  atheism  if  you  will,  for 
the  materialists  are  right — you  cannot  prove  a  God  or 
the  possibility  of  any  purely  spiritual  life.  Why  thus 
hanker  after  a  phantom  loveliness?  Fame — fame!  Win 
fame!  That  is  enough  for  you  in  this  world,  and  as  for 
a  next  world,  who  believes  in  it?  and  who,  believing, 
cares?' 

Soliloquizing  in  this  fashion,  he  set  his  foot  on  "Ar- 
dath"  itself,  determining  to  walk  across  and  around  it 
from  end  to  end.  The  grass  was  long  and  dry,  yet  it 
made  no  rustle  beneath  his  tread;  he  seemed  to  be  shod 
with  the  magic  shoes  of  silence.  He  walked  on  till  he 
reached  about  the  middle  of  the  field,  where,  perceiving 
a  broad,  flat  stone  near  him,  he  sat  down  to  rest.  There 
was  a  light  mist  rising,  a  thin  moonlit  colored  vapor 
that  crept  'slowly  upward  from  the  ground  and  remained 
hovering  like  a  wide,  suddenly-spun  gossamer  web,  some 
two  or  three  inches  above  it,  thus  giving  a  cool,  lu- 
minous, watery  effect  to  the  hot  and  arid  soil. 

"According  to  the  Apocrypha,  Esdras  'sat  among  the 
(lowers,'"  he  idly  murmured.  "Well!  perhaps  there  w«"-te 


84  "ARDATH" 

flowers  in  those  days,  but  it  is  very  evident  there  are 
none  now*  A  more  dreary,  utterly  desolate  place  than 
itkis  famous  'Ardath'  I  have  never  seen!" 

At  that  moment  a  subtle  fragrance  scented  the  still 
air — a  fragrance  deliciously  sweet,  as  of  violets  mingled 
with  myrtle.  He  inhaled  the  delicate  odor,  surprised 
and  confounded. 

"Flowers  after  all!"  he    exclaimed.      "Or   maybe  some 

-aromatic  herb "  and   he    bent    down  to    examine  the 

•turf  at  his  feet.  To  his  amazement  he  perceived  a  thick 
cluster  of  white  blossoms,  star-shaped  and  glossy-leaved, 
with  deep  golden  centers,  where  bright  drops  of  dew 
sparkled  like  brilliants,  and  from  whence  puffs  of  perfume 
rose  like  incense  swung  at  unseen  altars!  He  looked  at 
them  in  doubt  that  was  almost  dread.  Were  they  real? 
were  these  the  "silver  eyes"  in  which  Esdras  had  seen 
"signs  and  wonders?"  or  was  he  hopelessly  brain-sicft 
with  delusions,  and  dreaming  again? 

He  touched  them  hesitatingly;  they  were  actual  living 
things,  with  creamy  petals  soft  as  velvet;  he  was  about  t  o 
gather  one  of  them,  when  all  £t  once  his  attention  was 
caught  and  riveted  by  something  like  a  faint  shadow 
gliding  across  the  plain.  A  smothered  cry  escaped  his 
lips — he  sprang  erect  and  gazed  eagerly  forward,  half  in* 
hope,  half  in  fear.  What  slight  figure  was  that,  pacing 
slowly,  serenely,  and  all  alone  in  the  moonlight?  With- 
out another  instant's  pause  he  rushed  impetuously  to- 
ward it,  heedless  that  as  he  went  he  trod  on  thousands 
of  those  strange  starry  blossoms,  which  now  with  sud- 
den growth  covered  and  whitened  every  inch  of  the 
ground,  thus  marvelously  fulfilling  the  words  spoken  of 
old:  "Behold  the  field  thou  thoughtest  barren,  how  great 
a  .glory  hath  the  moon  unveiled!" 


CHAPTER    X. 

GOD'S   MAIDEN   EDRIS. 

HE  ran  on  swiftly  for  a  few  paces,  then  coming  more 
closely  in  view  of  the  misty  shape  he  pursued,  he  checked 
himself  abruptly  and  stood  still,  his  heart  sinking  with 


GOD'S  MAIDED   EDRIS  85 

*  bitter  and  irrepressible  sense  of  disappointment.  Here 
surely  was  no  angel  wanderer  from  unseen  spheres  !  Only 
a  girl,  clad  in  floating  gray  draperies  that  clung  softly  to 
her  slim  figure,  and  trailed  behind  her  as  she  moved 
sedately  along  through  the  snow-white  blossoms  that 
bent  beneath  her  noiseless  tread.  Ha  had  no  eyes  for 
the  strange  flower-transfiguration  of  the  lately  barren 
land;  ail  his  interest  was  centered  on  the  slender,  grace- 
ful form  of  the  mysterious  maiden.  She,  meanwhile, 
went  on  her  way,  till  she  reached  the  western  boundary 
of  the  field;  there  she  turned,  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then  came  back  straight  toward  him.  He  watched  her 
approach  as  though  she  were  some  invincible  fate,  and 
a  tremor  shook  his  limbs  as  she  drew  nearer — still  nearer  ! 
He  could  see  her  distinctly  now,  all  but  her  face;  that 
was  in  shadow,  for  her  head  was  bent  and  her  eyes  were 
downcast.  Her  long,  fair  hair  flowed  in  a  loose,  rippling 
mass  over  her  shoulders;  she  wore  a  wreath  of  the  "Ar- 
dath"  flowers,  and  carried  a  cluster  of  them  clasped  be- 
tween her  small,  daintily  shaped  hsnds.  A  few  steps 
more,  and  she  was  close  beside  him  ;  she  stopped  as  if  in 
expectation  of  some  word  or  sign,  but  he  stood  mute  and 
motionless,  not  daring  to  speak  or  stir.  Then,  without 
rusing  her  eyes,  she  passed — passed  like  a  flitting  va- 
por— and  he  remained  as  though  rooted  to  the  spot,  in 
a  sort  of  vague,  dumb  bewilderment!  His  stupefaction 
Mas  brief,  however;  rousing  himself  to  a  swift  resolu- 
tion, he  hastened  after  her. 

"Stay!  stay!"  he  cried  aloud. 

Obedient  to  his  call,  she  paused,  but  did  not  turn. 
He  came  up  with  her;  he  caught  at  her  robe,  soft  to 
the  touch  as  silken  gauze,  and  overwhelmed  by  a  sud- 
den emotion  of  awe  and  reverence,  he  sank  on  his  knees. 

"Who  and  what  are  you?"  he  murmured  in  trembling 
tones.  "Tell  me!  If  you  are  mortal  maid  I  will  not 
harm  you,  I  swear!  See!  I  am  only  a  poor  crazed  fool 
that  loves  a  dream — that  stakes  his  life  upon  a  chance 
of  heaven;  pity  me  as  you  are  gentle!  but  do  not  fear 
me — only  speak!" 

No  answer  came.  He  looked  up,  and  now  in  the  rich 
radiance  of  the  moon  beheld  her  face;  how  like,  and 
yet  how  altogether  unlike  it  was  to  the  face  of  the  an- 
gel in  his  vision!  For  that  ethereal  being  had  seemed 


86  "ARDATH" 

oazzingly,  supremely  beautiful  beyond  all  mortal  power 
of  description,  whereas  this  girl  was  simply  fair,  small, 
and  delicate,  with  something  wistful  and  pathetic  in  the 
lines  of  her  sweet  mouth,  and  shadows  as  of  remembered 
sorrows  slumbering  in  the  depths  of  her  serene,dove-like 
eyes.  Her  fragile  figure  drooped  wearily  as  though  she 
were  exhausted  by  some  long  fatigue;  yet,  gazing  down 
upon  him,  she  smiled,  and  in  that  smile  the  faint  re- 
semblance she  bore  to  his  spirit-ideal  flashed  out  like  a 
beam  of  sunlight,  though  it  vanished  again  as  quickly 
as  it  had  shone.  He  waited  eagerly  to  hear  her  voice- 
waited  in  a  sort  of  breathless  suspense,  but  as  she  still 
kept  silence  he  sprang  up  from  his  kneeling  attitude  and 
seized  her  hands — how  soft  they  were  and  warm! — he 
folded  them  in  his  own  and  drew  her  closer  to  himself; 
the  flowers  she  held  fell  from  her  grasp,  and  lay  in  a 
tumbled,  fragrant  heap  between  them.  His  brain  was 
in  a  whirl — the  past  and  the  future — the  real  and  the 
unreal — the  finite  and  the  infinite — seemed  all  merging 
into  one  another  without  any  shade  of  difference  or  divi- 
sion. 

"We  have  met  very  strangely,  you  and  I,"  he  said, 
scarcely  conscious  of  the  words  he  uttered.  "Will  you 
not  tell  me  your  name?" 

A  faint  sigh  escaped  her. 

"My  name  is  Edris, "  she  answered,  in  low,  musical 
accents,  that  carried  to  his  sense  of  hearing  a  suggestion 
of  something  sweet  and  familiar. 

"Edris!"  he  repeated,  "Edris!"  and  gazing  at  her 
dreamily,  he  raised  her  hands  to  his  lips  and  kissed 
them  gently.  "My  fairest  Edris!  From  whence  do  you 
come?" 

She  met  his  eye  with  a  mild  look  of  reproach  and  wor 
derment. 

"From  a  far,  far  country,  Theos!"  And  he  started  a^ 
she  thus  addressed  him.  "A  land  where  no  love  is  wasted 
and  no  promise  forgotten  !" 

Again  that  mystic  light  passed  over  her  pale  face;  the 
blossom-coronal  she  wore  seemed  for  a  moment  to  glit- 
ter like  a  circlet  of  stars.  His  heart  beat  quickly.  Could 
he  believe  her?  Was  she  in  very  truth  that  shining  Peri 
whose  aerial  loveliness  had  so  long  haunted  his  imagi- 
nation? Nay!  it  was  impossible!  for  if  she  were,  why 


GOD'S  MAIDEN  EDRIS  87 

should  she  veil  her  native  glory    in  such  simple    maiden 
guise? 

Searchingly  he  studied  every  feature  of  her  counte- 
nance, and,  as  he  did  so,  his  doubts  concerning  her 
spirit  origin  became  more  and  more  confirmed.  She  was 
a  living,  breathing  woman,  an  actual  creature  of  flesh 
and  blood,  yet  how  account  for  her  appearance  on  the 
field  of  "Ardath?"  This  puzzled  him,  till  all  at  once  a 
logical  explanation  of  the  whole  mystery  dawned  upon 
his  mind.  Heliobas  had  sent  her  hither  on  purpose  to 
meet  him!  Of  course!  How  dense  he  had  been  not  to 
see  through  so  transparent  a  scheme  before!  The  clever 
Chaldean  had  resolved  that  he,  Theos  Alwyn,  should 
somehow  be  brought  to  accept  his  trance  as  a  real  expe- 
rience, so  that  henceforth  his  faith  in  "things  unseen  and 
eternal"  might  be  assured.  Many  psychological  theorists 
would  uphold  such  a  deceit  as  not  only  permissible,  but 
even  praiseworthy,  if  practiced  for  the  furtherance  of  a 
good  cause.  Even  the  venerable  hermit  Elz£ar  might 
have  shared  in  the  conspiracy  and  this  "Edris, "  as  she 
called  herself,  was  no  doubt  perfectly  trained  in  the  part 
she  had  to  play!  A  plot  for  his  conversion!  Well!  he 
would  enter  into  it  himself,  he  resolved.  Why  not? 
The  girl  was  exquisitely  fair — a  veritable  Psyche  of  soft 
charms! — and  a  little  love  making  by  moonlight  would 
do  no  harm.  Here  he  suddenly  became  aware  that  while 
these  thoughts  were  passing  through  his  brain  he  had 
unconsciously  allowed  her  hands  to  slip  from  his  hold, 
and  she  now  stood  apart  at  some  little  distance,  her 
eyes  fixed  full  upon  him  with  an  expression  of  most 
plaintive  piteousness.  He  made  a  hasty  step  or  two  to- 
ward her,  and  as  he  did  so,  his  pulses  began  to  throb 
with  an  extraordinary  sensation  of  pleasure — pleasure 
so  keen  as  to  be  almost  pain. 

"Edris!"  he  whispered,  "Edris — "  and  stopped  irreso- 
lutely. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  the  appealing  wistfulness 
of  a  lost  and  suffering  child,  and  a  slight  shudder  ran 
through  all  her  delicate  frame. 

"I  am  cold,  Theos!"  she  murmured  half-beseech ingly, 
stretching  out  her  hands  to  him  once  more — hands  as 
fine  and  fair  as  lily-leaves — little  white  hands  which  he 
gazed  at  wonderingly,  yet  did  not  take;  "cold  and  very 


88 

weary!  The  way  has  been  long,  and  the  earth  is 
dark!" 

"Dark!"  repeated  Alwyn  mechanically,  still  absorbed 
in  the  dubious  contemplation  of  her  lovely,  yielding 
form,  her  sweet  upturned  face,  and  gold  glistening  hair. 
"Dark?  Here?  Beneath  the  brightness  of  the  moon.? 
Nay,  I  have  seen  many  a  full  day  look  less  radiant  than 
this  night  of  stars!" 

Her  eyes  dwelt  upon  him  with  a  certain  pathetic  be- 
wilderment; she  let  her  extended  arms  drop  wearily  at  he* 
side,  and  a  shadow  of  pained  recollection  crossed  the  fair1 
ness  of  her  features. 

"Ah,  I  forgot!"  and  she  sighed  deeply.  "This  is  that 
strange,  sad  world,  where  darkness  is  called  light." 

At  these  words,  uttered  with  so  much  sorrowful  mean- 
ing, a  quick  thrill  stirred  Alwyn's  blood,  an  inexplicable 
sharp  thrill,  that  was  like  the  touch  of  scorching  flame. 
He  gazed  at  her  perplexedly;  his  pride  resented  what 
he  imagined  to  be  the  deception  practiced  upon  him, 
but  at  the  same  time  he  was  not  insensible  to  the  weird 
romance  of  the  situation. 

He  began  to  consider  that  as  this  fair  girl,  trained  so 
admirably  in  mystical  speech  and  manner,  had  evidently 
been  sent  on  purpose  to  meet  him,  he  could  scarcely  be 
blamed  for  taking  her  as  she  presented  herself,  and  en- 
joying to  the  full  a  thoroughly  novel  and  picturesque 
adventure. 

His  eyes  flashed  as  he  surveyed  her  standing  there 
before  him,  utterly  unprotected  and  at  his  mercy ;  h'R 
old,  languid,  skeptical  smile  played  on  his  proud  lips-- 
that  smile  of  the  marble  Antinous  which  says:  "Bring 
me  face  to  face  with  truth  itself  and  I  shall  still  doubt  t" 
An  expression  of  reluctant  admiration  and  awakening 
passion  dawned  on  his  countenance;  he  was  about  to 
speak,  when  she,  whose  looks  were  fastened  on  him  with 
intense,  powerful,  watchful,  anxious  entreaty,  suddenly 
wrung  her  hands  together  as  though  in  despair,  and 
gave  vent  to  a  desolate,  sobbing  cry  that  smote  him  to 
the  very  heart. 

"Theos!  Theos!"  and  her  voice  pealed  out  on  the 
breathless  air  in  sweet,  melodious,  broken  echoes;  "O 
my  unfaithful  beloved!  what  can  I  do  for  thee?  A  love 
unseen  thou  wilt  not  understand — a  love  made  manifest 


-GOD'S   MAIDEN   EDRI3  89 

thou  wilt  not  recognize!  Alas!  my  journey  is  in  vain, 
my  errand  hopeless!  For  while  thine  unbelief  resists 
my  pleading,  how  can  I  lead  thee  from  danger  into  safety? 
how  bridge  the  depths  between  our  parted  souls?  how 
win  for  thee  pardon  and  blessing  from  Christ  the  King!" 
Bright  tears  filled  her  eyes  and  fell  fast  and  thick  through 
her  long,  drooping  lashes,  and  Alwyn,  smitten  with  re- 
morsa  at  the  sight  of  such  grief,  sprang  to  her  side  over- 
come by  shame,  love  and  penitence. 

"Weeping — and  for  me?"  he  exclaimed.  "Sweet  Edris! 
Gentlest  of  maidens!  Weep  not  for  one  unworthy,  but 
rather  smile  and  speak  again  of  love!"  And  now  his 
words,  pouring  forth  impetuously,  seemed  to  utter  them- 
selves independently  of  any  previous  thought.  "Yes! 
speak  only  of  love,  and  the  discourse  of  those  tuneful 
lips  shall  be  my  gospel;  the  glance  of  those  soft  eyes  my 
creed;  and  as  for  pardon  and  blessing,  I  crave  none  but 
thine!  I  sought  a  dream — I  have  found  a  fair  reality — a 
living  proof  of  love's  divine  omnipotence!  Love  is  the 
only  god — -who  would  doubt  his  sovereignty,  or  grudge 
him  his  full  measure  of  worship?  Not  I,  believe  me!" 
And  carried  away  by  the  force  of  a  resistless  inward 
fervor,  he  threw  himself  once  more  at  her  feet.  "See! 
h"?re  do  I  pay  my  vows  at  love's  high  altar!  heart's  de- 
sire shall  be  the  prayer — heart's  ecstasy  the  praise  I  To- 
gether we  will  celebrate  our  grand  service  of  love,  and 
Heaven  itself  shall  sanctify  this  Eve  of  St.  Edris  and 
All  Angels!" 

She  listened,  looking  down  upon  him  with  grave, 
half-timid  tenderness;  her  tears  dried,  and  a  sudden 
hope  irradiated  her  fair  face  with  a  soft,  bright  flush, 
as  lovely  as  the  light  of  morning  falling  on  newly  opened 
flowers.  When  he  ceased,  she  spoke,  her  accents  breaftfng 
through  the  silence  like  clear  notes  of  music  sweetly  sung. 

"So  be  it!"  she  said.  "May  Heaven  truly  sanctify  all 
pure  thoughts,  and  free  the  soul  of  my  beloved  from  sin  !" 

And  slowly  bending  forward,  as  a  delicate  iris-blos- 
som bends  to  the  sway  of  the  wind,  she  laid  her  hands 
about  his  neck,  and  touched  his  lips  with  her  own. 

Ah!  what  divine  ecstasy — what  wild  and  fiery  trans- 
port filled  him  then!  Her  kiss,  like  a  penetrating  light- 
ning-flash, pierced  to  the  very  center  of  his  being;  the 
moonbeams  swam  round  him  in  eddying  circJes  of  gold; 


90  "ARDATH" 

the  white  field  heaved  to  and  fro;  he  caught  her  waist 
tnd  clung  to  her,  and  in  the  burning  marvel  of  that  mo- 
ment he  forgot  everything  save  that,  whether  spirit  or 
mortal,  she  was  in  woman's  witching  shape,  and  that  all 
the  glamour  of  her  beauty  was  his  for  this  one  night  at 
least — this  night  which  now  in  the  speechless,  glorious 
delirium  of  love  that  overwhelmed  him,  seemed,  like  the 
Mahometan's  night  of  Al-Kadr,  "better  than  a  thousand 
months!" 

Drawn  to  her  by  some  subtle,  mysterious  attraction 
which  he  could  neither  explain  nor  control,  and  absorbed 
in  a  rapture  beyond  all  that  his  highest  and  most  daring 
flights  of  poetical  fancy  had  ever  conceived,  he  felt  as 
though  his  very  life  were  ebbing  out  of  him  to  become 
part  of  hers;  and  this  thought  was  strangely  sweet — a 
perfect  consummation  of  all  his  best  desires! 

All  at  once  a  cold  shudder  ran  freezingly  through  his 
veins;  a  something  chill  and  impalpable  appeared  to 
pass  between  him  and  her  caressing  arms;  his  limbs 
grew  numb  and  heavy;  his  sight  began  to  fail  him;  he 
was  sinking — sinking,  he  knew  not  where,  when  suddenly 
she  withdrew  herself  from  his  embrace.  Instantly  his 
strength  came  back  to  him  with  a  rush;  he  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  stood  erect,  breathless,  dizzy  and  confused, 
his  pulses  beating  like  hammer-strokes,and  every  fiber  in 
his  frame  quivering  with  excitement. 

Entranced,  impassioned,  elated — filled  with  unutterable 
joy,  he  would  have  clasped  her  again  to  his  heart ;  but 
she  retreated  swiftly  from  him,  and,  standing  several 
paces  off,  motioned  him  not  to  approach  her  more 
nearly.  He  scarcely  heeded  her  warning  gesture;  plung- 
ing recklessly  through  the  flowers,  he  had  almost  reached 
her  side,  when,  to  his  amazement  and  fear,  his  eager 
progress  was  stopped! 

Stopped  by  some  invisible,  intangible  barrier,  which, 
despite  all  his  efforts,  forcibly  prevented  him  from  ad- 
vancing one  step  further;  she  was  close  within  an  arm's 
length  of  him,  and  yet  he  could  not  touch  her!  Nothing 
apparently  divided  them,  save  a  small  breadth  of  the 
"Ardath"  blossoms  gleaming  ivory-soft  in  the  moonlight ; 
nevertheless  that  invincible  influence  thrust  him  back 
and  held  him  fast  as  though  he  were  chained  to  the 
ground  with  weights  of  iron! 


GOD'S   MAIDEN   EDRIS  91 

"Edris!"  he  cried  loudly,  his  former  transport  of  de- 
light changed  into  agony,  "Edris!  Come  to  me!  I  can- 
not come  to  you.  What  is  this  that  parts  us?" 

"Death!"  she  answered,  and  the  solemn  word  seemed 
to  toll  slowly  through  the  still  air  like  a  knell. 

He  stood  bewildered  and  dismayed.  Death?  What 
could  she  mean?  What,  in  .the  name  of  all  her  beauti- 
ful, delicate,  glowing  youth,  had  she  to  do  with  death? 
Gazing  at  her  in  mute  wonder,  he  saw  her  stoop  and 
gather  one  flower  from  the  clusters  growing  thickly  around 
her ;  she  held  it  shield-wise  against  her  breast,  where  it 
shone  like  a  large  white  jewel,  and  regarded  him  with 
sweet,  wistful  eyes  full  of  a  mournful  longing. 

"Death  lies  between  us,  my  beloved!"  she  continued. 
"One  line  of  shadow — only  one  little  line!  But  thou 
mayest  not  pass  it  save  when  God  commands,  and  I — I 
cannot!  For  I  know  naught  of  death,  save  that  it  is  a 
heavy,  dreamless  sleep  allotted  to  over-wearied  mor- 
tals, wherein  they  gain  brief  rest  'twixt  many  lives — lives 
that,  like  recurring  dawns,  rouse  them  anew  to  labor. 
How  often  hast  thou  slept  thus,  my  Theos,  and  forgot- 
ten me!" 

She  paused,  and  Alwyn  met  her  clear,  steadfast  looks 
with  a  swift  glance  of  something  like  defiance.  For  as 
she  spoke,  his  previous  idea  concerning  her  came  back 
upon  him  with  redoubled  force.  He  was  keenly  conscious 
of  the  vehement  fever  of  love  into  which  her  presence 
had  thrown  him,  but  all  the  same  he  was  unable  to  dis- 
possess himself  of  the  notion  that  she  was  a  pupil  and  an 
accomplice  of  Heliobas,  thoroughly  trained  and  practiced 
in  his  mysterious  doctrine,  and  that  therefore  she  most 
probably  had  some  magnetic  power  in  herself,  that  at  her 
pleasure  not  only  attracted  him  to  her,  but  also  held  him 
thus  motionless  at  a  di stance  front  her. 

She  talked,  of  course,  in  an  indefinite,  mystic  way 
either  to  intimidate  or  convince  him,  but — and  he  smiled 
a  little — in  any  case  it  only  rested  with  himself  to  un- 
mask this  graceful  pretender  to  angelic  honors!  And 
while  he  thought  thus,  her  soft  tones  trembled  on  the 
silence  again  ;  he  listened  as  a  dreaming  mariner  might 
listen  to  the  fancied  singing  of  the  sea-fairies. 

"Through  long,  bright  aeons  of  endless  glory,"  she  said, 
"I  have  waited  and  prayed  for  thee!  I  have  pleaded  thy 


ga  "ARDATH" 

cause  before  the  blinding  splendors  of  God's  throne.  I 
have  sung  thee  songs  of  thy  native  Paradise,  but  thou, 
grown  dull  of  hearing,  hast  Cc.ught  but  the  echo  of  the 
music!  Life  after  life  hast  thou  lived,  and  given  no 
thought  to  me,  yet  I  remember  and  am  faithful !  Heaven 
is  not  all  Heaven  to  me  without  thee,  my  beloved,  and 
now  in  this  time  of  thy  last  probation,  now,  if  thou 
lovest  me  indeed — " 

"Love  thee?"  suddenly  exclaimed  Theos,  half  beside 
himself  with  the  strange  passion  of  yearning  her  words 
awakened  in  him.  "Love  thee,  Edris?  Ay!  as  the 
gods  loved  when  earth  was  young!  with  the  fulness  of 
the  heart  and  the  vigor  of  glad  life,  even  so  I  love  thee! 
What  sayest  thou  of  Heaven?  Heaven  is  here — here 
on  this  bridal  field  of  'Ardath,'  o'er-canopied  with  stars! 
Come,  sweet  one,  cease  to  play  this  mystic  midnight 
fantasy.  I  have  done  with  dreams!  Edris,  be  thyself — 
for  thou  art  woman,  not  angel — thy  kiss  was  warm  a  » 
wine.  Nay,  why  shrink  from  me?" — this,  as  she  re- 
treated still  further  away,  her  eyes  flashing  with  unearthl  p 
brilliancy — "I  will  make  thee  a  queen,  fair  Edris,  ss 
poets  ever  make  queens  of  the  women  they  love;  my 
fame  shall  be  a  crown  for  thee  to  wear — a  crown  that 
the  whole  world,  gazing  on,  shall  envy!" 

And  in  the  heat  and  ardor  of  the  moment,  forgetful  of 
the  unseen  barrier  that  divided  her  from  him,  he  made  a 
violent  effort  to  spring  forward,  when  lo!  a  wave  cf  rip- 
pling light  appeared  to  break  from  beneath  her  feet;  it 
rolled  toward  him,  and  completely  flooded  the  space 
between  them  like  a  glittering  pool,  and  in  it  the  flowers 
of  "Ardath*'  swayed  to  and  fro  as  water-lilies  on  a  wood- 
land lake  sway  to  the  measured  dash  of  passing  oars! 
Starting  back  with  a  cry  of  terror,  he  gazed  wildly  on 
this  miracle;  a  voice  richer  than  all  music  rang  silvery 
clear  across  the  liquid  radiance. 

"Fame!"  said  the  voice.  "Wouldst  thou  crown  Me, 
Theos,  with  so  perishable  a  diadem?" 

Paralyzed  and  speechless,  he  lifted  his  straining,  daz- 
zled eyes.  Was  that  Edris?  that  lustrous  figure,  deli- 
cate as  a  sea-mist  with  the  sun  shining  through?  He 
started  upon  her  as  a  dying  man  might  stare  for  the  last 
time  on  the  face  of  his  nearest  and  dearest.  He  saw  her 
soft  gray  garrnents  change  to  glistening  white;  the  wreath. 


GOU'S   MAIDEN   EDRIS  93 

sYie  wore  sparkled  as  with  a  million  dewdrops;  a  rose- 
ate halo  streamed  above  her  and  around  her;  long  streaks 
of  crimson  flared  down  the  sky  like  threads  of  fire  swung 
from  the  stars,  and  in  the  deepening  glory,  her  counte- 
nance, divinely  beautiful,  yet  intensely  sad,  expressed 
the  touching  hope  and  fear  of  one  who  makes  a  final 
farewell  appeal.  Ah  God!  he  knew  her  now — too  late, 
too  late  he  knew  her — the  Angel  of  his  vision  stood  be- 
fore him!  and  humbled  to  the  very  dust  and  ashes  of  de- 
spair, he  loathed  himself  for  his  unworthiness  and  lack 
of  faith! 

"O  doubting  and  unhappy  one!"  she  went  on,  in  ac- 
cents sweeter  than  a  chime  of  golden  bells.  "Thou  art 
lost  in  the  gloom  of  the  Sorrowful  Star,  where  naught  is 
known  of  life  save  its  shadows!  Lost,  and  as  yet  I  can- 
not rescue  thee.  Ah!  forlorn  Edris  that  I  am,  left  lonely 
up  in  Heaven!  But  prayers  are  heard,  and  God's  great 
patience  never  tires;  learn  therefore  'from  the  perils  oj 
the  past,  the  perils  of  the  future,''  and  weigh  against 
an  immortal  destiny  of  love  the  worth  of  fame!" 

Wider  and  more  dazzling  grew  the  brilliancy  surround- 
ing her.  Raising  her  eyes,  she  clasped  her  hands  in  an 
attitude  of  impassioned  supplication. 

"O  fair  King  Christ!"  she  cried,  and  her  voice  seemed 
to  strike  a  melodious  passage  through  the  air,  "Thou 
canst  prevail!"  A  burst  of  music  answered  her — music 
that  rushed  wind-like  downward  and  swept  in  strong, 
vibrating  chords  over  the  land;  again  the  " Kyrie  eleison! 
Christe  eleison:  Kyrie  eleison!"  pealed  forth  in  the 
same  full,  youthful-toned  chorus  that  had  before  sound- 
ed so  mysteriously  ^utside  Elz6ar's  hermitage,  and  the 
separate  crimson  rays  glittering  aurora-wise  about  her 
radiant  figure  suddenly  melted  altogether  in  the  form 
of  a  great  cross,  which,  absorbing  moon  and  stars  in  its 
fiery  redness, blazed  from  end  to  end  of  the  eastern  horizon! 

Then  like  a  fair  white  dove  or  delicate  butterfly  she 
rose;  she  poised  herself  above  the  bowing  "Ardath" 
bloom,  anon  soaring  aioft,  she  floated  higher — higher — 
and  ever  higher,  serenely  and  with  aerial  slow  ease,  till, 
drawn  into  the  glory  of  that  wondrous  flaming  cross, 
whose  outstretched  beams  seemed  waiting  to  receive 
her,  she  drifted  straight  upward  through  its  very  center, 
and  so  vanished! 


94  "ARDATH" 

Theos  stared  aghast  at  the  glowing  sky;  whither  had 
she  gone?  Her  words  still  rang  in  his  ears,  the  warmth 
of  her  kisses  still  lingered  on  his  lips;  he  loved  her — he 
worshiped  her — why,  why  had  she  left  him,  "lost,"  as 
she  herself  had  said,  in  a  world  that  was  mere  empti- 
ness without  her?  He  struggled  for  utterance. 

"Edris!"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  "Edris!  My  angel- 
love!  Come  back!  Come  back — pity  me — forgive — 
Edris!" 

His  voice  died  in  a  hard  sob  of  imploring  agony; 
smitten  to  the  very  soul  by  a  remorse  greater  than  he 
could  bear,  his  strength  failed  him,  and  he  fell  sense- 
less, face  forward  among  the  flowers  of  the  prophet's 
field — flowers,  that,  circling  snowily  around  his  dark 
and  prostrate  form,  looked  like  fairy  garlands  bordering 
a  poet's  grave! 


PART  II, 
IN  ALKYR1S. 

''That  which  bath  been,  is  now:  and  that  which  is  to  be,  hath  already 
been;  and  God  requireth  that  which  is  past!" 

ECCLESIASTES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    MARVELOUS   CITY. 

PROFOUND  silence — profound  unconsciousness — oblivi- 
ous rest!  Such  are  the  soothing  ministrations  of 
kindly  Nature  to  the  overburdened  spirit — Nature  who 
in  her  tender  wisdom  and  maternal  solicitude  will  not 
permit  us  to  suffer  beyond  a  certain  limit.  Excessive 
pain,  whether  it  be  physical  or  mental,  cannot  last  long, 
and  human  anguish,  wound  up  to  its  utmost  quivering 
pitch,  finds  at  the  very  height  of  desolation  a  strange 
hushing,  Lethean  calm.  Even  so  it  was  with  Theos  Al- 
wyn;  drowned  in  the  deep  stillness  of  a  merciful  swoon, 
he  had  sunk,  as  it  were,  out  of  life,  far  out  of  the  furthest 
reach  or  sense  of  time,  in  some  vast,  unsounded  gulf 
shadows  where  earth  and  heaven  were  alike  forgotten! 

How  long  he  lay  thus  he  never  knew;  but  he  was 
reused  at  last — roused  by  the  pressure  of  something  cold 
and  sharp  against  his  throat;  and  on  languidly  opening 
his  eyes  he  found  himself  surrounded  by  a  small  body 
of  men  in  armor,  who,  leaning  on  tall  pikes  which  glist- 
ened brilliantly  in  the  full  sunlight,  surveyed  him  with 
looks  of  derisive  amusement.  One  of  these,  closer  to 
him  than  the  rest,  and  who  seemed  from  his  dress  and 
bearing  to  be  some  officer  in  authority,  held  instead  of 
a  pike  a  short  sword,  the  touch  of  whose  pointed  steel 
blade  had  been  the  effectual  means  of  awakening  him 
from  his  lethargy. 

"How  now!"  said  this  personage  in  a  rough  voice,  as 
he  withdrew  his  weapon.  "What  idle  fellow  art  thou? 
Traitor  or  spy?  Fool  thou  must  be,  and  breaker  of 
the  king's  law,  else  thou  hadst  never  dared  to  bask  in 
such  swine-like  ease  outside  the  gates  of  Al-Kyris  the 
Magnificent!" 


98  "ARDATH" 

Al-Kyris  the  Magnificent!  What  was  the  man  talking 
about?  Uttering  a  hasty  exclamation,  Alwyn  staggered 
to  his  feet  with  an  effort,  and  shading  his  eyes  from  the 
hot  glare  of  the  sun,  stared  bewilderedly  at  his  interloc- 
utor. 

"What — what  is  this?"  he  stammered  dreamily.  "I  do 
not  understand  you!  I — I  have  slept  on  the  'Field  of 
Ardath!'" 

The  soldiers  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  in  which  their 
leader  joined. 

"Thou  hast  drunk  deep,  my  friend!'  he  observed,  put- 
ting up  his  sword  with  a  sharp  clatter  into  its  shining 
sheath.  "What  name  sayest  thou?  Ardath?  We  know 
it  not,  nor  dost  thou,  I  warrant,  when  sober!  Go  to, 
make  for  thy  home  speedily!  Ay,  ay!  the  flavor  of 
good  wine  clings  to  thy  mouth  still— it's  a  pleasant 
sweetness  that  I  myself  am  partial  to,  and  I  can  pardon 
those  who,  like  thee,  love  it  somewhat  too  well!  Away! 
and  thank  the  gods  thou  hast  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
the  king's  guard,  rather  than  Lysia's  priestly  patrol!  See! 
the  gates  are  open — in  with  thee!  and  cool  thy  head  at 
the  first  fountain!" 

"The  gates!  What  gates?"  Removing  his  hand  from 
his  eyes  Alwyn  gazed  around  confusedly.  He  was  stand- 
ing on  an  open  stretch  of  level  road,  dustily  white  and 
dry  with  long-continued  heat,  and  right  in  front  of  him 
was  an  enormously  high  wall,  topped  with  rows  of  brist- 
ling iron  spikes,  and  guarded  by  the  gates  alluded  to — 
huge,  massive  portals,  seemingly  made  of  finely  moulded 
brass,  and  embellished  on  either  side  by  thick,  round, 
stone  watch-towers,  from  whose  summits  scarlet  pennons 
drooped  idly  in  the  windless  air.  Amazed,  and  full  of  a 
vague,  trembling  terror,  he  fixed  his  wondering  looks  once 
more  upon  his  strange  companions,  who  in  their  turn  re- 
garded him  with  cool  military  indifference. 

"I  must  be  mad  or  dreaming!"  he  thought;  then 
growing  suddenly  desperate  he  stretched  out  his  hands 
with  a  wild,  appealing  gesture. 

"I  swear  to  you  I  know  nothing  of  this  place!"  he 
cried.  "I  never  saw  it  before!  Some  trick  has  been 
played  on  me;  who  brought  me  here?  Where  is  Eizear 
the  hermit?  the  ruins  of  Babylon?  where  is — Good 
what  fearful  freak  of  fate  is  this?" 


THE   MARVELOUS   CITY  99 

The  Soldiers  laughed    again;   their  commander    looked 
at  him  a  little  curiously. 

"Nay,  art  thou  one  of  the  escaped  of  Lysia's  lovers?" 
he  asked  suspiciously.  "And  has  the  silver  nectar  failed 
of  its  usual  actio-n,  and  driven  thy  senses  to  the  winds, 
that  thou  ravest  thus?  For  if  thou  art  a  stranger  and 
knowest  naught  of  us,  how  speakest  thou  our  language? 
Why  wearest  thou  the  garb  of  our  citizens?  ' 

Alwyn  shrank  and  shivered  as  though  he  had  received 
a  deadening  blow;  an  awful,  inexplicable  chill  horror 
froze  his  blood.  It  was  true!  He  understood  the  lan- 
guage spoken;  it  was  perfectly  familiar  to  him — more 
so  than  his  own  native  tongue.  Stop !  what  was  his 
native  tongue? 

He  tried  to  think,  and  the  sick  fear  at  his  heart  grew 
stronger;  he  could  not  remember  a  word  of  it!  And 
his  dress!  he  glanced  at  it  dismayed  and  appalled;  he 
had  not  noticed  it  till  now.  It  bore  some  resemblance 
to  the  costume  of  ancient  Greece,  and  consisted  of  a 
white  linen  tunic  and  loose  upper  vest,  both  garment 
being  kept  in  place  by  a  belt  of  silver.  From  this  belt 
depended  a  sheathed  dagger,  a  square  writing  tablet, 
and  a  pencil-shaped  implement  which  he  immediately 
recognized  as  the  antique  form  of  stylus.  His  feet  were 
shod  with  sandals,  his  arms  were  bare  to  the  shoulder, 
and  clasped  at  the  upper  part  by  two  broad  silver  armlets 
richly  chased. 

Noting  all  these  details,  the  fantastic  awfulness  of 
his  position  smote  him  with  redoubled  force,  and  he  felt 
as  a  madman  may  feel  when  his  impending  doom  has 
not  entirely  asserted  itself — when  only  grotesque  and  leer- 
ing suggestions  of  madness  cloud  his  brain,  when  hid- 
eous faces,  dimly  discerned,  loom  out  of  the  chaos  of  his 
nightly  visions,  and  when  all  the  air  seems  solid  dark- 
ness with  one  white  line  of  fire  cracking  it  asunder  in 
the  midst,  and  that  the  fire  of  his  own  approaching  frenzy. 
Such  a  delirium  of  agony  possessed  Alwyn  at  that  mo- 
ment; he  could  have  shrieked,  laughed,  groaned,  wept, 
and  fallen  down  in  the  dust  before  these  bearded  armed 
men,  praying  them  to  slay  him  with  their  weapons  there 
where  he  stood  and  put  him  mercifully  and  at  once  out 
of  his  mysterious  misery!  But  an  invisible  influence 
stronger  than  himself  prevented  him  from  becoming  al- 


loo  "ARDATH" 

together  the  victim  of  his  own  torturing  emotions,  and 
he  remained  erect  and  still  as  a  marble  figure,  with  a 
wondering,  white,  piteous  face  of  such  unutterable  afflic- 
tion that  the  officer  who  watched  him  seemed  touched, 
and,  advancing,  clapped  his  shoulder  in  a  friendly  man- 
ner. r-v 

"Come,  come!"  he  said.  "Thou  needst  fear  nothing: 
we  are  not  the  men  to  blab  of  thy  trespass  against  the 
city's  edict,  for,  of  a  truth,  there  is  too  much  whispering 
away  of  young  and  goodly  lives  nowadays.  What!  thou 
art  not  the  first  gay  gallant,  nor  wilt  thou  be  the  last, 
that  has  seen  the  world  turn  upside  down  in  a  haze  of 
love  and  late  feasting!  If  thou  hast  not  slept  long  enough, 
why,  sleep  again  and  thou  wilt — but  not  here — " 

He  broke  off  abruptly;  a  distant  clatter  of  horses' 
hoofs  was  heard,  as  of  one  galloping  at  full  speed.  The 
soldiers  started,  and  assumed  an  attitude  of  attention; 
their  leader  muttered  something  like  an  oath,  and,  seizing 
Alwyn  by  the  arm,  hurried  him  to  the  brazen  gates 
which,  as  he  had  said,  stood  open,  and  literally  thrust 
him  through. 

"In,  in,  my  lad!"  he  urged  with  rough  kindliness. 
"Thou  hast  a  face  fairer  than  that  of  the  king's  own 
minstrel,  and  why  wouldst  thou  die  for  sake  of  an  extra 
cup  of  wine?  If  Lysia  is  to  blame  for  this  scattering 
of  thy  wits,  take  heed  thou  do  not  venture  near  her  more; 
it  is  ill  jesting  with  the  serpent's  sting!  Get  thee  hence 
quickly,  and  be  glad  of  thy  life;  thou  hast  many  years 
before  thee  yet,  in  which  to  play  the  lover  and  fool!" 

With  this  enigmatical  speech  he  signed  to  his  men  to 
follow  him ;  they  all  filed  through  the  gates,  which 
closed  after  them  with  a  jarring  clang.  A  dark  bearded 
face  peered  out  of  a  narrow  loop-hole  in  one  of  the 
watch-towers,  and  a  deep  voice  called: 

"What  of  the  hour?" 

The  officer  raised  his  gauntleted  hand,  and  answered 
promptly: 

"Peace  and  safety!" 

"Salutation!"  cried  the  voice  again. 

"Salutation!"  responded  the  officer,  and  with  a  reassur- 
ing nod  and  smile  to  the  bewildered  Alwyn,  he  gathered 
his  little  band  around  him,  and  they  all  marched  off,  the 
measured  clink-clank  of  their  footsteps  making  metallic 


THE    MARVELOUS  CITY  IOI 

music,  as  they  wheeled  round  a  corner  and    disappeared 
from  sight. 

Left  to  himself,  Alwyn's  first  idea  was  to  sit  down  in 
some  quiet  corner,  and  endeavor  calmly  to  realize  what 
strange  and  cruel  thing  had  chanced  to  him.  But  hap- 
pening to  look  up,  he  saw  the  bearded  face  in  the  watch- 
tower  observing  him  suspiciously  ;  he  therefore  roused 
himself  sufficiently  to  walk  away,  on  and  on,  scarce 
heeding  whither  he  went,  till  he  had  completely  lost 
sight  of  those  great  gold-glittering  portals  which  had 
shut  him,  against  his  will,  within  the  walls  of  a  large, 
splendid  and  populous  city.  Yes!  hopelessly  perplex- 
ing and  maddening  as  it  was,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  this  fact,  and  though  he  again  and  again  tried  to  con- 
vince himself  that  he  was  laboring  under  some  wild  and 
exceptional  hallucination,  his  senses  all  gave  evidence 
of  the  actual  reality  of  his  situation;  he  felt,  he  moved, 
he  heard,  he  saw — he  was  even  beginning  to  be  conscious 
of  hunger,  thirst  and  fatigue. 

The  further  he  went,  the  more  gorgeous  grew  the  sur- 
roundings; his  unguided  steps  wandered,  as  it  seemed,  of 
their  own  accord,  into  wide  streets,  paved  entirely  with 
mosaics,  and  lined  on  both  sides  with  lofty,  picturesque 
and  palace-like  buildings;  he  crossed  and  recrossed  broad 
avenues,  shaded  by  tall,  feathery  palms,  and  masses  of 
graceful  flowering  foliage;  he  passed  rows  upon  rows 
of  brilliant  shops  whose  frontage  glittered  with  the 
most  costly  and  beautiful  wares  of  every  description, 
and  as  he  strolled  about  aimlessly,  uncertain  whither  to 
go,  he  was  constantly  jostled  by  the  pressing  throngs  of 
people  that  crowded  the  thoroughfares,  all  more  or  less 
apparently  bent  on  pleasure,  to  judge  from  their  animated 
countenances  and  frequent  bursts  of  gay  laughter. 

The  men  were  for  the  most  part  arrayed  like  himself, 
though  here  and  there  he  met  some  few  whose  garments 
were  of  soft  silk  instead  of  linen,  who  wore  gold  belts 
in  place  of  silver,  and  who  carried  their  daggers  in 
sheaths  that  were  literally  encrusted  all  over  with  flash- 
ing jewels. 

As  he  advanced  more  into  the  city's  center,  the  crowds 
increased,  so  much  so  that  the  noise  of  traffic  and  clat- 
ter of  tongues  became  quite  deafening  to  his  ears. 
Richly  ornamented  chariots  drawn  by  spirited  horsea> 


•if. —  --.-».         — • 


102  "ARDATH" 

and  driven  by  personages  whose  attire  seemed  to  be  a 
positive  blaze  of  gold  and  gems,  rolled  past  in  a  contin- 
uous procession ;  fruit-sellers, arraying  their  lovely, luscious 
merchandise  in  huge,  gilded,  moss-wreathed  baskets, 
stood  at  almost  every  corner;  flower-girls,  fair  as  flowers, 
bore  aloft  in  their  gracefully  upraised  arms  wide  wicker 
trays,  overflowing  with  odorous  blossoms  tied  into  clus- 
ters and  wreaths;  and  there  were  countless  numbers  of 
curious  little  open  square  carts  to  which  mules  wearing 
collars  of  bells  were  harnessed,  the  tinkle-tinkle  of  their 
constant  passage  through  the  throng  making  incessant 
merry  music.  These  vehicles  bore  the  names  of  traders — 
purveyors  in  wine  and  dealers  in  all  sorts  of  provisions — 
but  with  the  exception  of  such  necessary  business 
caterers,  the  streets  were  full  of  elegant  loungers  of  both 
sexes,  who  seemed  to  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  but 
amuse  themselves. 

The  women  were  especially    noticeable  for    their  lazy 
grace  of  manner;  they  glided  to  and  fro  with  an  indolent 
floating  ease  that  was  indescribably  bewitching,  the  more 
so  as  many  of  them  were  endowed  with  exquisite  beauty 
of  form   and    feature — beauty    greatly    enhanced    by  the 
artistic  simplicity  of  their  costume,  which  was  composed 
of  a    straight,  clinging    gown,  slightly    gathered    at  the 
throat,   and  bound  about  the  waist  with  a  twisted  girdle 
of  silver,   gold,  and,  in    some    cases,  jewels;    their  arms, 
like  those  of  the  men,  were  bare,  and  their  small,  delicate 
feet  were  protected    by    sandals    fastened    with    crossed 
bands  of  ribbon  coquettishly  knotted.     The  arrangement 
of  their  hair  was  evidently  a  matter  of  personal  taste,  and 
not  the  slavish  copying  of  any  set  fashion;  some  allowed 
it  to  hang  in  loosely  flowing  abundance  over  their  shoul- 
ders, others  had  it  closely  braided  or    coiled    carelessly 
in  a  thick,  soft  mass  at  the  top  of  the  head,  but  all  with- 
out exception  wore   white  veils — veils,  long,  transparent 
and  filmy  as  gossamer,  which  they  flung  back  or  draped 
about  them  at  their  pleasure;  and  presently,  after  watch- 
ing several  of  these  fairy  creatures    pass  by,  and    listen- 
ing to  their  low  laughter    and  dulcet    speech,  a    sudden 
memory  leaped  into  Alwyn's  confused  brain — an  old,  old 
memory  that    seemed    to    have    lain    hidden    among  his 
thoughts    for    centuries  — the    memory  of    a  story    called 
"Lamia,"  told  in  verse  as  delicious  as  music  aptly  played. 


THE   MARVELOUS   CITY  103 

Who  wrote  the  story?  He  could  not  tell,  but  he  recol- 
lected that  it  was  about  a  snake  in  the  guise  of  a  beau- 
tiful woman.  And  these  women  in  this  strange  city 
looked  as  if  they  also  had  a  snake-like  origin,  there  was 
something  so  soft  and  lithe  and  undulating  about  their 
movements  and  gestures. 

Weary  of  walking,  distracted  by  fcns  ever  increasing 
clamor,  and  fealing  lost  among  the  crowd,  he  at  last  per- 
ceived a  wide  and  splendid  square,  surrounded  with 
stately  houses,  and  having  in  its  center  a  huge  white 
granite  obelisk  which  towered  like  a  pillar  of  snow 
against  the  dense  blue  of  the  sky.  Below  it  a  massively 
sculptured  lion,  also  of  white  granite,  lay  couchant, 
holding  a  shield  between  its  paws,  and  on  either  side 
two  fine  fountains  ware  in  full  play,  the  delicate  spiral 
columns  of  water  being  dashed  up  and  beyond  the  extreme 
point  of  the  obelisk,  so  that  its  stone  face  was  wet  and 
glistening  with  the  tossing  rainbow  shower. 

Here  he  turned  aside  out  of  the  main  thoroughfare; 
there  ware  tall,  shady  trees  all  about,  and  fantastically 
carved  benches  underneath  them;  he  determined  to  sit 
down  and  rest,  and  steadily  think  out  his  involved  and 
peculiar  condition  of  mind. 

As  he  passed  the  sculptured  lion,  he  saw  certain  words 
engraved  on  the  shield  it  held;  they  were,  "Through 
the  Lion  and  the  Serpent  shall  Al-Kyris  flourish. " 

There  was  no  disorder  in  his  intelligence  concerning 
this  sentence;  he  was  able  to  read  it  clearly  and  compre- 
hensively; and  yet,  what  was  the  language  in  which 
it  was  written,  and  how  did  he  come  to  know  it  so  thor- 
oughly? With  a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  groan,  he  sank 
listlessly  on  a  seat,  and,  burying  his  head  in  his  hands 
to  shut  out  all  the  strange  sights  which  so  direfully  per- 
plexed his  reason,  he  began  to  subject  himself  to  a  pa- 
tient, serious  cross-examination. 

In  the  first  place,  Who  was  he?  Part  of  the  required 
answer  came  readily — Theos.  Theos  what?  His  brain 
refused  to  clear  up  this  point;  it  repeated  Theos — Theos, 
over  and  over  again,  but  no  more! 

Shuddering  with  a  vague  dread,  he  asked  himself  the 
n-:xt  question:  From  whence  had  he  come?  The  reply 
\v  is  direct  and  decisive — From  Ardath 

Bi-it  what  was  Ardath?     It  was    neither    a  country  nor 


104  "ARDATH'1 

a  city,  it  was  a  "waste  field,"  where  he  had  seen — ah! 
whom  had  he  seen?  He  struggled  furiously  with  him- 
self for  some  response  to  this — none  came!  Total,  dumb 
blankness  was  the  sole  result  of  the  inward  rack  to  which 
he  subjected  his  thoughts! 

And  where  had  he  been  before  he  ever  saw  "Ardath?" 
Had  he  no  recollection  of  any  other  place,  any  other 
surroundings?  Absolutely  none — torture  his  wits  as  he 
would — absolutely  none!  This  was  frightful — incredi- 
ble! Surely,  surely,  he  mused  piteously,  there  must  have 
been  something  in  his  life  before  the  name  of  "Ardath1 
had  swamped  his  intelligence! 

He  lifted  his  head;  his  face  had  grown  ashen-gray 
and  rigid  in  the  deep  extremity  of  his  speechless 
trouble  and  terror;  there  was  a  sick  faintness  at  his  heart, 
and,  rising,  he  moved  unsteadily  to  one  of  the  great 
fountains,  and  there  dipping  his  hands  in  the  spray,  he 
dashed  some  drops  on  his  brow  and  eyes.  Then,  mak- 
ing a  cup  of  his  hollowed  palms,  he  drank  thirstily  sev- 
eral draughts  of  the  cool,  sweet  water;  it  seemed  to  allay 
the  fever  in  his  blood. 

He  looked  around  him  with  a  wild,  vague  smile.  Al- 
Kyris — of  course  he  was  in  Al-Kyris!  Why  was  he  so 
distressed  about  it?  It  was  a  pleasant  city;  there  was 
much  to  see,  and  also  much  to  learn!  At  that  instant  a 
loud  blast  of  silver-toned  trumpets  split  the  air,  followed 
by  a.  storm-roar  of  distant  acclamation  surging  up  from 
thousands  of  throats;  crowds  of  men  and  women  sud- 
denly flocked  into  the  square,  across  it,  and  out  of  it 
again,  all  pressing  impetuously  in  one  direction  ;  and 
urged  forward  by  the  general  rush  as  well  as  by  a  corre- 
sponding impulse  within  himself,he  flung  all  meditation 
to  the  winds,  and  plunged  recklessly  into  the  shouting, 
on-sweeping  throng.  He  was  borne  swiftly  with  it  down 
a  broad  avenue  lined  with  grand  old  trees  and  decked 
with  flying  flags  and  streamers,  to  the  margin  of  a  noble 
river,  as  still  as  liquid  amber  in  the  wide  sheen  and 
heat  of  the  noonday  sun.  A  splendid  marble  embank- 
ment, adorned  with  colossal  statues,  girdled  it  on  both 
sides,  and  here,  under  silken  awnings  of  every  color, 
pattern  and  design,  an  enormous  multitude  was  assem- 
bled, its  white-attired,  closely  packed  ranks  stretching 
far  away  into  the  blue  distance  on  either  hand. 


THE   MARVELOUS   CITY  105 

All  the  attention  of  this  vast  concourse  appeared  to  be 
centered  on  the  slow  approach  of  a  strange  gilded  vessel, 
that  with  great  curved  prow  and  scarlet  sails  flapping 
idly  in  the  faint  breeze,  was  gliding  leisurely  yet  majes- 
tically over  the  azure  blaze  of  the  smooth  water.  Huge 
oars  like  golden  fins  projected  from  her  sides  and  dipped 
lazily  every  now  and  then,  apparently  wielded  by  the 
hands  of  invisible  rowers,  whose  united  forces  supplied 
the  lack  of  the  needful  wind;  and  as  he  caught  sight  of 
this  cumbrously  quaint  galley,  Theos,  moved  by  sudden 
interest,  elbowed  his  way  resolutely  through  the  dense 
crowd  till  he  gained  the  edge  of  the  embankment,  where, 
leaning  against  the  marble  balustrade,  he  watched  with 
a  curious  fascination  its  gradual  advance. 

Nearer  and  nearer  it  came — brighter  and  brighter 
glowed  the  vivid  scarlet  of  its  sails;  a  solemn  sound  of 
stringed  music  rippled  enchantingly  over  the  glassy  river, 
mingling  itself  with  the  wild  shoutings  of  the  populace  — 
shouting  that  seemed  to  rend  the  hollow  vault  of  heav- 
en! Nearer — nearer — and  now  the  vessel  slid  round  and 
curtsied  forward;  its  propelling  fins  moved  more  rapidly — 
another  graceful  sweep — and  lo!  it  fronted  the  surging 
throng  like  a  glittering,  fantastic  apparition  drawn  out  of 
dreamland! 

Theos  stared  at  it,  dazzled  and  stricken  with  a  half- 
blind,  breathless  wonder;  was  ever  a  ship  like  this,  he 
thought — a  ship  that  sparkled  all  over  as  though  it  were 
carved  out  of  one  great  burning  jewel?  Golden  hangings, 
falling  in  rich, loose  folds,  draped  it  gorgeously  from  stem 
to  stern;  gold  cordage  looped  the  sails;  on  the  deck  a 
band  of  young  girls  clad  in  white,  and  crowned  with 
flowers,  knelt,  playing  softly  on  quaintly  shaped  instru- 
ments, and  a  cluster  of  tiny,  semi-nude  boys,  fair  as 
young  cupids,  were  grouped  in  pretty,  reposeful  attitudes 
along  the  edge  of  the  gilded  prow,  holding  garlands  of 
red  and  yellow  blossoms  which  trailed  down  to  the  sur- 
face of  the  water  beneath. 

As  a  half-slumbering  man  may  note  a  sudden  brilliant 
glare  of  sunshine  flashing  on  the  wall  of  his  sleeping- 
chamber,  so  Theos  at  first  viewed  this  floating  page  int 
in  confused,  uncomprehending  bewilderment,  when  all  at 
once  his  stupefied  senses  were  roused  to  hot  life  and  pul- 
sating action  ;  with  a  smothered  cry  of  ecstasy  he  fixed 


106  "ARDATH" 

his  straining,  eager  gaze  on  one  supreme  fair  figure — the 
central  glory  of  the  marvelous  picture! 

A  woman  or  a  goddess?  a  rainbow  flame  in  mortal 
shape?  a  spirit  of  earth,  air,  fire,  water?  or  a  thought 
of  beauty  embodied  into  human  sweetness  and  made 
perfect?  Clothed  in  gold  attire,  and  girdled  with -gems 
she  stood,  leaning  indolently  against  the  middle  mast 
of  the  vessel,  her  great,  somber,  dusky  eyes  resting  drows- 
ily on  the  swarming  masses  of  people,  whose  frenzied 
roar  of  rapture  and  admiration  resounded  like  the  break- 
ing of  billows. 

Presently,  with  a  slow,  solemn  smile  on  her  haughtily 
curved  lips,  she  extended  one  hand  and  arm,  snow-white 
and  glittering  with  jewels,  and  made  an  imperious  gest- 
ure to  command  silence.  Instantly  a  profound  hush  en- 
sued. Lifting  a  long,  slender  white  wand,  at  the  end  of 
which  could  be  plainly  seen  the  gleaming  silver  head 
of  a  serpent,  she  described  three  circles  in  the  air  with 
a  perfectly  even,  majestic  motion,  and  as  she  did  this, 
her  marvelous  eyes  turned  toward  Theos,  and  dwelt 
steadily  upon  him. 

He  met  her  gaze  fully,  absorbing  into  his  inmost  soul 
the  mesmeric  spell  of  her  matchless  loveliness;  he  saw, 
without  actually  realizing  the  circumstance,  that  the 
whole  vast  multitude  around  him  had  fallen  prostrate  in 
an  attitude  of  worship,  and  still  he  stood  erect,  drinking 
in  the  warmth  of  those  dark,  witching,  sleepy  orbs  that 
flashed  at  him  half-resentfully,  half- mockingly  ;  and  then, 
the  beauty-burdened  ship  began  to  sway  gently,  and 
move  onward — she,  that  wondrous  siren  queen,  was  van- 
ishing— vanishing — she  and  her  kneeling  maidens,  and 
music,  and  flowers;  vanishing — where? 

With  a  start  he  sprang  from  his  post  of  observation. 
He  felt  he  must  go  after  her  at  all  risks;  he  must  find 
out  her  place  of  abode,  her  rank,  her  title,  her  name. 
All  at  once,  he  was  roughly  seized  by  a  dozen  or  more 
of  hands;  loud,  angry  voices  shouted  on  all  sides: 

"A  traitor!  a  traitor!"      "An  infidel!" 

"A  spy!"     "A  malcontent!" 

"Into  the  river  with  him!" 

"He  refuses  worship!"     "He  denies  the  gods!" 

"Bear  him  to' the  tribunal!"  And  in  a  trice  of  time 
he  was  completely  surrounded  and  hemmed  in  by  an 


SAH-LUMA  107 

exasperated,  gesticulating  crowd,  whose  ominous  looks 
and  indignant  mutterings  were  plainly  significant  of 
prompt  hostility.  With  a  few  agile  movements  he  suc- 
ceeded in  wrenching  himself  free  from  the  grasp  of  his 
assailants,  and  standing  among  them  like  a  stag  at  bay, 
he  cried: 

"What  have  I  done?  How  have  I  offended?  Speak! 
Or  is  it  the  fashion  of  Al-Kyris  to  condemn  a  man  un- 
heard?" 

No  one  answered  this  appeal;  the  very  directness  of 
it  seemed  to  increase  the  irritation  of  the  mob,  that, 
pressing  closer  and  closer,  began  to  jostle  and  hustle 
him  in  a  threatening  manner  that  boded  ill  for  his  safety. 
He  was  again  taken  prisoner,  and  struggling  in  the  grasp 
of  his  captors,  he  was  preparing  to  fight  for  his  life  as 
best  he  could  against  the  general  fury,  when  the  sound 
of  musical  strings,  swept  carelessly  upward  in  the  as- 
cending scale,  struck  sweetly  through  the  clamor.  A 
youth,  arrayed  in  crimson,  and  carrying  a  small  golden 
harp,  marched  sedately  between  the  serried  ranks  that 
parted  right  and  left  at  his  approach,  thus  clearing  the 
way  for  another  personage  who  followed  him — a  grace 
ful  Adonis-like  personage  in  glistening  white  attire,  who 
wore  a  myrtle-wreath  on  his  dark  abundant,  locks,  and 
whom  the  populace,  forgetting  for  a  moment  the  cause  of 
their  recent  disturbance,  greeted  with  a  ringing  and  ec- 
static shout  of  "HAIL,  SAH  LUMA" 

Again  and  again  this  cry  was  uplifted,  till  far  away 
on  the  extreme  outskirts  of  the  throng  the  joyous  echo  of 
it  was  repeated  faintly  yet  distinctly:  "HAIL!  ALL  HAIL, 

SAHfrLUMAl" 


CHAPTER  II. 

SAH-LUMA. 

THE  new-comer  thus  enthusiastically  welcomed  bowed 
right  and  left,  with  a  condescending  air,  in  response  to 
the  general  acclamation;  and  advancing  to  the  spot 
where  Theos  stood,  an  enforced  prisoner  in  the  close  grip 
of  three  or  four  able-bodied  citizens,  he  said: 


108  "ARDATH* 

"What  turbulence  is  here?  By  my  faith!  when  I  heard 
the  noise  of  quarrelsome  contention  jarring  the  sweetness 
of  this  nectarous  noon,  methought  I  was  no  longer  in 
Al-Kyris,  but  rather  in  some  western  city  of  barbarians 
where  music  is  but  an  unvalued  name!" 

And  he  smiled — a  dazzling  child-like  smile,  half  pet- 
ulant, half-pleased — a  smile  of  supreme  self-conscious- 
ness, as  of  one  who  knew  his  own  resistless  power  to 
charm  away  all  discord. 

Several  voices  answered  him  in  clamorous  unison: 

'A  traitor,  Sah-luma!"  "A  profane  rebel!"  "An  un- 
believer!" "A  most  insolent  knave!"  "He  refused  hom- 
age to  the  high  priestess!"  "A  renegade  from  the  faith!' 

"Now,  by  the  sacred  veil!"  cried  Sah-luma  impatiently, 
"think  ye  I  can  distinguish  your  jargon,  when  like  ig- 
norant boors  ye  talk  all  at  once,  tearing  my  ears  to 
shreds  with  such  unmelodious  tongue-clatter!  Whom 
have  ye  seized  thus  roughly?  Let  him  stand  forth!" 

At  this  command,  the  men  who  held  Theos  relaxed 
their  grasp,  and  he,  breathless  and  burning  with  indig- 
nation at  the  treatment  he  had  received,  shook  himself 
quickly  free  of  all  restraint  and  sprang  forward,  confront- 
ing his  rescuer.  There  was  a  brief  pause,  during  which 
the  two  surveyed  each  other  with  looks  of  mutual  amaze- 
ment. What  mysterious  indication  of  affinity  did  they 
read  in  one  another's  faces?  Why  did  they  stand  mo- 
tionless, spellbound  and  dumb  for  a  while,  eyeing 
half-admiringly,  half  enviously,  each  other's  personal 
appearance  and  bearing? 

Undoubtedly  a  curious,  far-off  resemblance  existed  be- 
tween them,  yet  it  was  a  resemblance  that  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  actual  figure,  mien,  or  counte- 
nance. It  was  that  peculiar  and  often  undefinable  sim- 
ilarity of  expression,  which,  when  noticed  between  two 
brothers  who  are  otherwise  totally  unlike,  instantly  pro- 
claims their  relationship. 

Theos  realized  his  own  superior  height  and  superior 
muscular  development,  but  what  were  these  physical 
advantages  compared  to  the  classic  perfection  of  Sah- 
luma's  beauty? — beauty  combining  the  delicate  with  the 
vigorous,  such  as  is  shadowed  forth  in  the  artist-concep- 
tions of  the  god  Apollo.  His  features,  faultlessly  regu- 
lar, were  redeemed  from  all  effeminacy  by  the  ennobling 


SAH-LUMA  ICQ 

impress  of  high  thought  and  inward  inspiration;  his  eyes 
were  dark,  with  a  brilliant  under-reflection  of  steel-gray 
in  them,  that  at  times  flashed  out  like  the  soft  glitter  of 
summer-lightning  in  the  dense  purple  of  an  August  heav- 
en; his  olive  tinted  complexion  was  flushed  warmly  with 
the  glow  of  health,  and  he  had  broad,  bold  intellectual 
brows,  over  which  the  rich  hair  clustered  in  luxuriant 
waves — hair  that  was  almost  black,  with  here  and  there 
a  curious  fleck  of  reddish  gold  brightening  its  curling 
masses,  as  though  a  stray  sunbeam  or  two  had  been 
caught  and  entangled  therein.  He  was  arrayed  in  a  cos- 
tume of  the  finest  silk;  his  armlets,  belt,  and  dagger- 
sheath  were  all  of  jewels,  and  the  general  brilliancy  of 
his  attire  was  furthermore  increased  by  a  finely  worked 
flexible  collar  of  gold,  set  with  diamonds.  The  first 
exchange  of  wondering  glances  over,  he  viewed  Theos 
with  a  critical,  half-supercilious  air. 

"What  art  thou?"  he  demanded.  "What  is  thy  call- 
ing?" 

Theos  hesitated,  then  spoke  boldly  and  unthinkingly. 
"I  am  a  poet!"  he  said. 

A  murmur  of  irrepressible  laughter  and  derision  ran 
through  the  listening  crowd.  Sah-luma's  lips  curled 
haughtily. 

"A  poet!"  and  his  fingers  played  idly  with  the  dagger 
at  his  belt.  "Nay,  not  so!  There  is  but  one  poet  in 
Al-Kyris,  and  I  am  he!" 

Theos  looked  at  him  steadily;  a  subtle  sympathy  at- 
tracted him  toward  this  charming  boaster.  Involuntarily 
he  smiled,  and  bent  his  head  courteously. 

"I  do  not  ask  to  figure  as  your  rival,"  he  began. 

"Rival!"  echoed  Sah  luma.     "I  have  no  rivals!" 

A  burst  of  applause  from  those  nearest  to  them  in  the 
throng  declared  the  popular  approval  of  this  assertion, 
and  the  boy  bearing  the  harp,  who  had  loitered  to  listen 
to  the  conversation,  swept  the  strings  of  his  instrument 
with  a  triumphant  force  and  fervor  that  showed  how 
thoroughly  his  feelings  were  in  harmony  with  the  ex- 
pression of  his  master's  sentiments.  Sah-luma  conquered, 
with  an  effort,  his  momentary  irritation,  and  resumed 
coldly: 

"From  whence  do  you  come,  fair  sir?  We  should 
know  your  name;  fQfts  are  not  so  common."  This  with 
an  accent  of  irony. 


no  "ARDATH" 

T'aken  aback  by  the  question,  Theos  stood  irresolute, 
and  uncertain  what  to  say.  For  he  was  afflicted  with  a 
strange  and  terrible  malady  such  as  he  dimly  remembered 
having  heard  of,  but  never  expected  to  suffer  from — a 
malady  in  which  his  memory  had  become  almost  a  blank 
as  regarded  the  past  events  of  his  life,  though  every  now 
and  then  shadowy  images  of  bygone  things  flitted  across 
his  brain,  like  the  transient  reflections  of  wind-swept 
clouds  on  still,  translucent  water.  Presently,  in  the 
midst  of  his  painful  indecision,  an  answer  suggested  itself 
like  a  whispered  hint  from  some  invisible  prompter. 

"Poets  like  Sah-luma  are  no  doubt  as  rare  as  nightin- 
gales in  snow!"  he  said,  with  soft  deference,  and  an  in- 
creasing sense  of  tenderness  for  his  haughty,  handsome 
interlocutor.  "As  for  me,  I  am  but  a  singer  of  sad  songs 
that  are  not  worth  the  hearing.  My  name  is  Theos ;  I 
come  from  far  beyond  the  seas,  and  am  a  stranger  in  Al- 
Kyris — therefore,  if  I  have  erred  in  aught,  I  must  be 
blamed  for  ignorance,  not  malice." 

As  he  spoke  Sah-luma  regarded  him  intently.  Theos 
met  his  gaze  frankly  and  unflinchingly.  Surely  there  was 
some  singular  power  of  attraction  between  the  two,  for 
as  their  flashing  eyes  again  dwelt  earnestly  on  one  an- 
other, they  both  smiled,  and  Sah-luma,  advancing,  prof- 
fered his  hand.  Theos  at  once  accepted  it,  a  curious 
sensation  of  pleasure  tingling  through  his  frame,  as  he 
pressed  those  slender  brown  fingers  in  his  own  cordial 
clasp. 

"A  stranger  in  Al-Kyris?  and  from  beyond  the  seas? 
Then  by  my  life  and  honor  I  insure  thy  safety  and  bid 
thee  welcome!  A  singer  of  sad  songs?  Sad  or  merry, 
that  thou  art  a  singer  at  all  makes  thee  the  guest  of  the 
king's  laureate."  A  look  of  conscious  vanity  illumined 
his  face  as  he  thus  announced  with  proud  emphasis  his 
own  title  and  claim  to  distinction.  "The  brotherhood  of 
poets,"  he  continued  laughingly,  "is  a  mystic  and  doubtful 
tie  that  hath  oft  been  questioned;  but  provided  they  do 
not,  like  ill-conditioned  wolves,  fight  each  other  out  of 
the  arena,  there  should  be  joy  in  the  relationship."  Here 
turning  full  upon  the  crowd,  he  lifted  his  rich, melodious 
voice  to  higher  and  more  ringing  tones: 

"It  is  like  you,  O  hasty  and  misjudging  Kyrisians, 
that  finding  a  harmless  wanderer  from  far-off  lands,  pres- 


8AH-LUMA  111 

ent  at  the  pageant  of  the  Midsummer  Benediction,  ye 
should  pounce  upon  him,  even  as  kites  on  a  straying 
sea-bird,  and  maul  him  with  your  ruthless  talons!  Has 
he  broken  the  law  of  worship?  Ye  have  broken  the  law 
of  hospitality!  Has  he  failed  to  kneel  to  the  passing 
Ship  of  the  Sun?  So  have  ye  failed  to  handle  him  with 
due  courtesy!  What  report  shall  he  bear  hence  of  your 
gentleness  and  culture,  to  those  dim  and  unjoyous  shores 
beyond  the  gray-green  wall  of  ocean-billows,  where  the 
very  name  of  Al-Kyris  serves  as  a  symbol  for  all  that  is 
great  and  wise  and  wondrous  in  the  whole  round  circle 
of  the  world?  Moreover,  ye  know  full  well  that  for- 
eigners and  sojourners  in  the  city  are  exempt  from  wor- 
ship, and  the  king's  command  is  that  all  such  should  be 
well  and  nobly  entertained,  to  the  end  that  when  they 
depart  they  may  carry  with  them  a  full  store  of  pleasant 
memories.  Hence,  scatter-brains,  to  your  homes!  No 
festival  can  ye  enjoy  without  a  gust  of  contention.  Ye  are 
ill  made  instruments  all,  whose  jarring  strings  even  I, 
crowned  minstrel  of  the  kin^.  can  scarce  keep  one  day 
in  happy  tune.  Look  you  now!  this  stranger  is  my 
guest!  Is  there  a  man  in  Al-Kyris  who  will  treat  as  an 
enemy  one  whom  Sah-luma  calls  friend?" 

A  storm  of  applause  followed  this  little  extempore 
speech — applause  accompanied  by  an  odorous  rain  of 
flowers.  There  were  many  women  in  the  crowd,  and 
these  had  pressed  eagerly  forward  to  catch  every  word 
that  dropped  from  the  poet-laureate's  mellifluous  lips; 
now, moved  by  one  common  impulse,  they  hastily  snatched 
off  their  posies  and  garlands,  and  flung  them  in  lavish 
abundance  at  his  feet.  Some  of  the  blossoms  chancing 
to  fall  on  Theos  and  cling  to  his  garments,  he  quickly 
shook  them  off,  and  gathering  them'  together,  presented 
them  to  the  personage  for  whom  they  were  intended. 
He,  however,  gayly  rejected  them,  moving  his  small 
sandled  foot  playfully  among  the  thick  wealth  of  red 
and  white  roses  that  lay  waiting  to  be  crushed  beneath 
his  tread. 

"Keep  thy  share!"  he  said,  with  an  amused  flash  of  his 
glorious  eyes.  "Such  offerings  are  my  daily  lot!  I  can 
spare  thee  one  handful  from  the  overflowing  harvest  of 
my  song!" 

It  was  impossible  to  be  offended  with    such    charming 


112  "ARDATH* 

self-complacency;  the  naive  conceit  of  the  man  was  as 
harmless  as  the  delight  of  a  fair  girl  who  has  made  her 
first  conquest;  and  Theos,  smiling,  kept  the  flowers. 
By  this  time  the  surrounding  throng  had  broken  up  into 
little  knots  and  groups,  all  illhumor  on  the  part  of  the 
populace  had  completely  vanished,  and  large  numbers 
were  now  leaving  the  embankment  and  dispersing  in 
different  directions  to  their  several  homes.  All  those 
who  had  been  within  hearing  distance  of  Sah-luma's 
voice  appeared  highly  elated,  as  though  they  had  enjoyed 
some  special  privilege  and  pleasure  ;  to  be  reproved  by 
the  laureate  was  evidently  considered  better  than  being 
praised  by  any  one  else.  Many  persons  pressed  up  to 
Theos,  and  shaking  hands  with  him,  offered  their  eager 
excuses  and  apologies  for  the  misunderstanding  that  had 
lately  taken  place,  explaining,  with  much  animation  both 
of  look  and  gesture,  that  the  fact  of  his  wearing  the 
same  style  of  dress  as  themselves  had  induced  them  to 
take  it  for  granted  that  he  must  be  one  of  their  fellow- 
citizens,  and  therefore  subject  to  the  laws  of  the  realm. 
Theos  was  just  beginning  to  feel  somewhat  embarrassed 
by  the  excessive  politeness  and  cordiality  of  his  recent 
antagonists,  when  Sah-luma,  again  interposing,  cut  all 
explanations  short. 

"Come,  come!  cease  this  useless  prating!"  he  said  im- 
peratively yet  good-naturedly.  "In  everything  ye  showed 
your  dullard  ignorance  and  lack  of  discernment.  For, 
concerning  the  matter  of  attire,  are  not  the  fashions  of 
Al-Kyris  copied  more  or  less  badly  in  every  quarter  of 
the  habitable  globe?  even  as  our  language  and  literature 
form  the  chief  study  and  delight  of  all  scholars  ard  edu- 
cated gentlemen?  A  truce  to  your  discussions!  Let  us 
get  hence  and  home."  Here  he  turned  to  Theos  with  a 
graceful  salutation.  "You,  my  good  friend,  will  doubt- 
less be  glad  to  rest  and  recover  from  my  countrymen's 
ungentle  treatment  of  your  person." 

Thus  saying,  he  made  a  slight  commanding  sign;    the 
clustering  people  drew  back  on  either  side,  and  he,  tak 
ing  Theos  by  the  arm,  passed  through  their  ranks,  talk 
ing,  laughing,  and  nodding  graciously  here  and   there  as 
he  went,  with  the  half-kindly,  half-indifferent  ease  of  an 
affable  monarch  who  occasionally    bows  to    some    of    his 
poorest  subjects.      As  he  trod  over  the    flowers    that  lay 


SAH-LUMA  113 

heaped  about  his  path,  several  girls  rushed  impetuously 
forward,  struggling  with  each  other  for  possession  of 
those  particularly  favored  blossoms  that  had  received  the 
pressure  of  his  foot,  and  kissing  them,  they  tied  them  in 
little  knots,  and  pinned  them  proudly  on  the  bosoms  of 
their  white  gowns. 

One  or  two,  more  daring,  stretched  out  their  hands  to 
touch  the  golden  frame  of  the  harp  as  it  was  carried 
past  them  by  the  youth  in  crimson— a  pretty  fellow 
enough,  who  looked  extremely  haughty,  and  almost  in- 
dignant at  this  effrontery  on  the  part  of  the  fair  poet- 
worshipers;  but  he  made  no  remonstrance,  and  merely 
held  his  head  a  little  higher  and  walked  with  a  more 
consequential  air,  as  he  followed  his  master  at^  a  re- 
spectful  distance.  Another  long,  ecstatic  shout  of  "Hail, 
Sah-luma!"  arose  on  all  sides,  rippling  away— away 
down,  as  it  seemed,  to  the  very  furthest  edge  of  echoing 
resonance,  and  then  the  remainder  of  the  crowd  quickly 
scattered  right  and  left,  leaving  the  spacious  embank- 
ment almost  deserted,  save  for  the  presence  of  several 
copper-colored,  blue- shirted  individuals  who  were  com- 
mencing the  work  of  taking  down  and  rolling  up  the 
silken  awnings,  accompanying  their  labors  by  a  sort  of 
monotonous  chant,  that,  mingling  with  the  slow,  gliding 
splash  of  the  river,  sounded  as  weird  and  mournful  as 
the  sough  of  the  wind  through  leafless  trees. 

Meanwhile  Theos,  in  the  company  of  his  new  friend, 
began  to  express  his  thanks  for  the  timely  rescue  he 
had  received,  but  Sah-luma  waved  all  such  acknowledg- 
ments aside. 

"Nay,  I  have  only  served  thee  as  a  crowned  laureate 
should  ever  serve  a  lesser  minstrel,"  he  said,  with  that 
indescribably  delicious  air  of  self-flattery  which  was  so 
whimsical,  and  yet  so  winning.  "And  I  tell  thee  in  all 
good  faith,  that  for  a  newly  arrived  visitor  in  Al-Kyris, 
thy  first  venture  was  a  reckless  one!  To  omit  to  kneel 
in  the  presence  of  the  high  priestess  during  her  benedic- 
tion, was  a  violation  of  our  customs  and  ceremonies  dan. 
gerous  to  life  and  limb!  A  religiously  excited  mob  is 
merciless,  and  if  I  had  not  chanced  upon  t>ie  scene  of 
action — " 

"I  should  have  been  no  longer  the  man  I  am!"  smiled 
Theos,  looking  down  on  his  companion's  light,  lithe, 


H4  "ARDATH" 

elegant  form  as  it  moved  gracefully  by  his  side.  "But 
that  I  failed  in  homage  to  the  high  priestess  was  a  most 
unintentional  lack  of  wit  on  my  part,  for  if  that  was  the 
high  priestess — that  dazzling  wonder  of  beauty  who  lately 
passed  in  a  glittering  ship,  on  her  triumphant  way  down 
the  river,  like  a  priceless  pearl  in  a  cup  of  gold — " 

"Ay,  ay!"  and  Sah-luma's  dark  brows  contracted  in  a 
slight  frown.  "Not  so  many  fine  words,  I  pray  thee! 
Thou  couldst  not  well  mistake  her — there  is  only  one 
Lysia!" 

"Lysia!"  murmured  Theos  dreamily,  and  the  musical 
name  slid  off  his  lips  with  a  soft,  sibilant  sound,  "Lysia! 
And  I  forgot  to  kneel  to  that  enchanting,  that  adorable 
being!  O  unwise,  benighted  fool!  where  were  my 
thoughts?  Next  time  I  see  her  I  will  atone;  no  matter 
what  creed  she  represents,  I  will  kiss  the  dust  at  her 
feet  and  so  make  reparation  for  my  sin!" 

Sah-luma  glanced  at  him  with  a  somewhat  dubious  ex- 
pression. 

"What!  art  thou  already  persuaded?"  he  queried 
lightly,  ''and  wilt  thou  also  be  one  of  us?  Well,  thou 
wilt  need  to  kiss  the  dust  in  very  truth,  if  thcu  servest 
Lysia;  no  half-measures  will  suit  where  she,  the  un- 
touched and  immaculate,  is  concerned,"  and  here  there 
was  a  faint  inflection  of  mingled  mockery  and  sadness  in 
his  tone.  "To  love  her  is,  for  many  men,  an  absolute 
necessity,  but  the  Virgin  Priestess  of  the  Sun  and  the 
Serpent  receives  love,  as  statues  may  receive  it — moving 
all  others  to  frenzy,  she  is  herself  unmoved!" 

Theos  listened,  scarcely  hearing.  He  was  studying 
every  line  in  Sah-luma's  face  and  figure  with  fixed  and 
wistful  attention.  Almost  unconsciously  he  pressed  the 
arm  he  held,  and  Sah-luma  looked  up  at  him  with  a  half 
smile. 

"I  fancy  we  shall  like  each  other!"  he  said.  "Thou 
art  a  Western  singing  bird-of-passage  and  I  a  nested 
nightingale  amid  the  roses  of  the  East — our  ways  of  mak- 
ing melody  are  different — we  shall  not  quarrel!" 

"Quarrel!"  echoed  Theos  amazedly.  "Nay!  I  might 
quarrel  with  my  nearest  and  dearest,  but  never  with 
thee,  Sah-luma!  For  I  know  thee  for  a  very  prince  of 
poets!  and  would  as  soon  profane  the  sanctity  of  the 
tyjuse  herself,  as  violate  thy  proffered  friendship!" 


SAH-LUMA  II*> 

"Why,  so!"  returned  Sah-luma,  his  brilliant  eyes  flash- 
ing with  undisguised  pleasure.  "An  thou  thinkest  thus 
of  me  we  shall  be  firm  and  fast  companions !  Thou  hast 
spoken  well  and  not  without  good  instruction.  I  per- 
ceive my  fame  hath  reached  thee  in  thine  own  ocean- 
girdled  lands,  where  music  is  as  rare  as  sunshine.  Right 
glad  am  I  that  chance  has  thrown  us  together,  for  now 
thou  wilt  be  better  able  to  judge  of  my  master  skill  in 
sweet  word- weaving!  Thou  must  abide  with  me  for  all 
the  days  of  thy  sojourn  here.  Art  willing?" 

"Willing?  Ay!  more  than  willing!"  exclaimed  Theos, 
enthusiastically.  "But,  if  I  burden  hospitality — 

"Burden!"  and  Sah-luma  laughed.  "Talk  not  of  bur- 
dens to  me!  I,  who  have  feasted  kings,  and  made  light 
of  their  entertaining!  Here,"  he  added  as  he  led  the 
way  through  a  broad  alley,  lined  with  magnificent  palms 
— "here  is  the  entrance  to  my  poor  dwelling!"  and  a 
sparkling,  mischievous  smile  brightened  his  features. 
"There  is  room  enough  in  it,  methinks,  to  hold  thee, 
even  if  thou  hadst  brought  a  retinue  of  slaves!" 

He  pointed  before  him  as  he  spoke,  and  Theos  stood 
for  a  moment  stock-still  and  overcome  with  astonish- 
ment at  the  size  and  splendor  of  the  palace  whose  gates 
they  were  just  approaching.  It  was  a  dome-shaped 
building  of  the  purest  white  marble,  surrounded  on  all 
sides  by  long  fluted  colonnades,  and  fronted  by  a  spacious 
court,  paved  with  mosaics,  where  eight  flower-bordered 
fountains  dashed  up  to  the  hot  blue  sky  incessant  show 
ers  of  refreshing  spray. 

Into  this  court  and  across  it,  Sah-luma  led  his  won- 
dering guest;  ascending  a  wide  flight  of  steps,  they  en- 
tered a  vast  open  hall,  where  the  light  poured  in  through 
rose-colored  and  pale  blue  glass,  that  gave  strange,  yet 
lovely  effect  of  mingled  sunset  and  moonlight  to  the 
scene.  Here,  reclining  about  on  cushions  cf  silk  and 
velvet,  were  several  beautiful  girls  in  various  attitudes  of 
indolence  and  ease;  one  laughing  black  haired  houri  was 
amusing  herself  with  a  tame  bird  which  flew  to  and  from 
her  uplifted  finger;  another,  in  a  half-sitting  posture, 
played  cup-and-ball  with  much  active  and  graceful  dex- 
terity, some  were  working  at  gold  and  silver  embroidery; 
others;  clustered  in  a  semi-circle  round  a  large  osier  bas- 
ket filled  with  myrtle,  were  busy  weaving  garlands  of 


Il6  "ARDATH* 

the  fragrant  leaves;  and  one  maiden,  seemingly  younger 
than  the  rest,  and  of  lighter  and  more  delicate  complex- 
ion, leaned  somewhat  pensively  against  an  ebony-framed 
harp,  as  though  she  were  considering  what  sad  or -sug- 
gestive chords  she  should  next  awaken  from  its  respon- 
sive strings.  As  Sah-luma  and  Theos  appeared,  these 
nymphs  all  rose  from  their  different  occupations  and 
amusements,  and  stood  with  bent  heads  and  folded 
hands  in  statuesque  silence  and  humility. 

"These  are  my  human  rosebuds  !"  said  Sah-luma  softly 
and  gayly,  as  holding  the  dazzled  Theos  by  the  arm  he 
escorted  him  past  these  radiant  and  exquisite  forms. 
"They  bloom,  and  fade,  and  die,  like  the  flowers  thrown 
by  the  populace — proud  and  happy  to  feel  that  their  per- 
ishable loveliness  has  even  for  a  brief  while  been  made 
more  lasting  by  contact  with  my  deathless  poet  fame! 
Ah,  Niphrata!"  and  he  paused  at  the  side  of  the  girl 
standing  by  the  harp.  "Hast  thou  sung  many  of  my 
songs  to-day?  or  is  thy  voice  too  weak  for  such  impas- 
sioned cadence?  Thou  art  pale — I  miss  thy  soft  blush 
and  dimpling  smile;  what  ails  thee,  my  honey-throated 
oriole?" 

"Nothing,  my  lord,"  answered  Niphrata  in  a  loiv 
tone,  raising  a  pair  of  lovely  dusky  violet  eyes,  fringed 
with  long  black  lashes.  "Nothing,  save  that  my  heart 
is  always  sad  in  thine  absence!" 

Sah-luma  smiled,  well  pleased. 

"Let  it  be  sad  no  longer  then!"  he  said,  caressing  her 
cheek  with  his  hand,  and  Theos  saw  a  wave  of  rich 
color  mounting  swiftly  to  her  fair  brows  at  his  touch,  as 
though  she  were  a  white  popp}'  warming  to  crimson  in 
the  ardent  heat  of  the  sun.  "I  love  to  see  thee  merry — 
tnirth  suits  a  young  and  beauteous  face  like  thine!  Look 
you,  sweet!  I  bring  with  me  here  a  stranger  from  far- 
off  lands,  one  to  whom  Sah-luma's  name  is  as  a  star  in 
ihe  desert !  I  must  needs  have  thy  voice  in  all  its  full 
lusciousness  of  tune  to  warble  for  his  pleasure  those 
heart-entangling  ditties  of  mine  which  thou  hast  learned 
to  render  with  such  matchless  tenderness.  Thanks,  Gi- 
senya" — this  as  another  maiden  advanced,  and  gently  re- 
moving the  myrtle  wreath  he  wore,  placed  one  just  freshly 
woven  on  his  clustering  curls.  Then,  turning  to  Theos, 
he  inquired:  "Wilt  xhou  also  wear  a  minstrel  garland^ 
my  friend?  Niphrata  or  Gisenya  will  crown 


SAH-LUMA  117 

"I  am  not  worthy,"  answered  Theos,  bending  his  head 
in  low  salutation  to  the  two  lovely  girls,  who  stood 
eyeing  him  with  a  certain  wistful  wonder.  "One  spray 
from  Sah-luma's  discarded  wreath  will  best  suffice  me!" 

Sah-luma  broke  into  a  laugh  of  absolute  delight. 

"I  swear  thou  speakest  well  and  like  a  true  man!"  he 
said  joyously.  "Unfamous  as  thou  art,  thou  deservest 
honor  for  the  frank  confession  of  thy  lack  of  merit!  Be- 
lieve me,  there  are  some  boastful  rhymers  in  Al-Kyris 
who  would  benefit  much  by  a  share  of  thy  becoming 
modesty!  Give  him  his  wish,  Gisenya. "  And  Gisenya, 
obediently  detaching  a  sprig  of  myrtle  from  the  wreath 
Sah-luma  had  worn  all  day,  handed  it  to  Theos  with  a 
graceful  obeisance.  "For  who  knows  but  the  leaves 
may  contain  a  certain  witchery  we  wot  not  of,  that  shall 
eadovv  him  with  a  touch  of  the  divine  inspiration!" 

At  that  moment,  a  curious  figure  came  shuffling  across 
tie  splendid  hall — that  of  a  little  old  man  somewhat 
shabbily  attired,  upon  whose  wrinkled  countenance 
I  here  seemed  to  be  a  fixed  malign  smile,  like  the  smile 
cf  a  mocking  Greek  mask.  He  had  small,  bright,  beady 
black  eyes  placed  very  near  the  bridge  of  his  large  hooked 
nose;  his  thin  wispy,  gray  locks  streamed  scantily  over 
his  bent  shoulders,  and  he  carried  a  tall  staff  to  support 
his  awkward  steps  — a  staff  with  which  he  made  a  most 
disagreeable  tapping  noise  on  the  marble  pavement  as 
he  came  along. 

"Ah,  Sir  Gad-about!"  he  exclaimed  in  a  harsh,  squeaky 
voice  as  he  perceived  Sah  luma.  "Back  again  from  your 
»elf-advertising  in  the  city!  Is  there  any  poor  soul  left 
in  Al-Kyris  whose  ears  have  not  been  deafened  by  the 
parrot-cry  of  the  name  of  Sah-luma?  If  there  is — at  him, 
at  him,  my  dainty  warbler  of  tiresome  trills!  at  him, 
and  storm  his  senses  with  a  rhodomontade  of  rhymes  with- 
out reason!  at  him,  immortal  of  the  immortals!  bard  of 
bards!  stuff  him  with  quatrains  and  sextains!  beat  him 
with  blank  verse — blank  of  all  meaning!  lash  him  with 
ballad  and  sonnet-scourges,  till  the  tortured  wretch, 
howling  for  mercy,  shall  swear  that  no  poet  save  Sah- 
luma  ever  lived  before,  or  will  ever  live  again,  on  the 
fx.ce  of  the  shuddering  and  astonished  earth!" 

And  breathless  with  this  extraordinary  outburst,  he 
struck  his  staff  loudly  on  the  floor,  and  straightway  felj 


u8  "ARDATH" 

into  such  a  violent  fit  of  coughing    that  his    whole  lean 
body  shook  with  the  paroxysm. 

Sah-luma  laughed  heartily — laughter  in  which  he  was 
joined  by  all  the  assembled  maidens,  including  the  gentle, 
pensive-eyed  Niphrata  Standing  erect  in  his  glisten- 
ing princely  attire,  with  one  hand  resting  familiarly  on 
Theos'  arm,  and  the  sparkle  of  mirth  lighting  up  his 
handsome  features,  he  formed  the  greatest  contrast  im- 
aginable to  tne  little,  shrunken  old  personage,  who,  cling, 
ing  convulsively  to  his  staff,  was  entirely  absorbed  in  his 
efforts  to  control  and  overcome  his  sudden  and  unpleas- 
ant attack  of  threatened  suffocation. 

"Theos,  my  friend,"  he  said  still  laughing,  "thou  must 
know  the  admirable  Zabastes — a  man  of  vast  importance 
in  his  own  opinion!  Have  done  thy  wheezing, "he  con- 
tinued, vehemently  thumping  the  struggling  old  gentle- 
man^on  the  back.  "Here  is  another  of  the  minstrel  craft 
thou  hatest;  hast  aught  of  bitterness  in  thy  barbed 
tongue  wherewith  to  welcome  him  as  guest  to  mine 
abode?" 

Thus  adjured,  the  old  man  peered  up  at  Theos  inquis- 
itively, wiping  away  the  tears  that  his  coughing  had 
brought  into  his  eyes,  and  after  a  minute  or  two  began 
also  to  laugh  in  a  smothered,  chuckling  way — a  laugh  that 
resembled  the  croaking  of  frogs  in  a  marshy  pool. 

"Another  one  of  the  minstrel-craft!"  he  echoed  deri- 
sively. "Ay,  ay!  Like  meets  like,  and  fool  consorts 
with  fool!  The  guest  of  Sah-luma!  Hearken,  young 
man,"  and  he  drew  closer,  the  malign  grin  widening  on 
his  furrowed  face,  "thou  shalt  learn  enough  trash  here 
to  stock  thee  with  idiot  songs  for  a  century!  Thou 
shalt  gather  up  such  fragments  of  stupidity  as  shall 
provide  thee  with  food  for  all  the  puling  love'-sick  girls 
of  a  nation!  Dost  thou  write  follies  also?  thou  shalt 
not  write  them  here — thou  shalt  not  even  think  them! 
for  here  Sah-luma — the  great,  the  unrivaled  Sah-luma — 
is  sole  lord  of  the  land  of  poesy.  Poesy!  By  all  the 
gods,  I  would  the  accursed  art  had  never  been  invented! 
So  might  the  world  have  been  spared  many  long-drawn 
nothings,  enwoofed  in  obscure  and  distracting  phraseol- 
ogy! Thou  a  would-be  poet?  Go  to!  make  bricks, 
mend  sandals,  dig  entrenchments.,  fight  for  thy  ccuntry, 
and  leave  the  idle  stringing  of  words,  and  the  tinkling 


SAH-LUMA  Jig 

of  rhyme,  to    children    like    Sah-luma,  who    play    with 
life  instead  of  living  it!" 

And  with  this,  he  hobbled  off  uneasily,  grunting  and 
grumbling  as  he  went,  and  waving  his  staff  magisterially 
n^ht  and  left  to  warn  the  smiling  maidens  out  of  his 
vviy,  and  once  more  Sah-luma's  laughter,  clear  and 
joyous,  pealed  through  the  vaulted  vestibule. 

"Poor  Zabastes!"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  good-humored 
tolerance.  "He  has  the  most  caustic  wit  of  any  man  in 
Al-Kyris!  He  is  a  positive  marvel  of  perverseness  and 
ill  humor,  well  worth  the  four  hundred  golden  pieces  I 
pay  him  yearly  for  his  task  of  being  my  scribe  and  crit- 
ic. Like  all  of  us  he  must  live,  eat,  and  wear  decent 
clothing,  and  that  his  only  literary  skill  lies  in  the 
abuse  of  better  men  than  himself,  is  his  misfortune  rather 
than  his  fault.  Yes,  he  is  my  paid  critic — paid  to  rail 
against  me  on  all  occasions,  public  or  private,  for  the 
merriment  of  those  who  care  to  listen  to  the  mutterings 
of  his  discontent;  and,  by  the  sacred  veil!  I  cannot 
choose  but  laugh  myself  whenever  I  think  of  him.  He 
deems  his  words  carry  weight  with  the  people;  alas, 
poor  soul,  his  scorn  but  adds  to  my  glory,  his  derision 
to  my  fame  Nay,  of  a  truth  I  need  him,  even  as  the 
king  needs  the  court  fool,  to  make  mirth  for  him  in 
vacant  moments,  for  there  is  something  grotesque  in  the 
contemplation  of  his  cankered  clownishness,  that  sees 
naught  in  life  but  the  eating,  the  sleeping,  the  building, 
and  the  bargaining.  Such  men  as  he  can  never  bear  to 
know  that  there  are  others,  gifted  by  heaven,  for  whom 
all  common  things  take  radiant  shape  and  meaning;  for 
whom  the  flowers  reveal  their  fragrant  secrets;  for  whom 
birds  not  only  sing,but  speakin  most  melodious  utterance; 
for  whose  dreamy  eyes  the  very  sunbeams  spin  bright 
fantasies  in  mid-air  more  lasting  than  the  kingdoms  of 
the  world.  Blind  and  unhappy  Zabastes.  He  is  ignorant 
as  a  stone,  and  for  him  the  mysteries  of  Nature  are  for- 
ever veiled.  The  triumphal  hero-march  of  the  stars,  the 
brief,  bright  rhyme  of  the  flashing  comet,  the  canticle  of 
the  rose  as  she  bares  her  crimson  heart  to  the  smile  of 
the  sun,  the  chorus  of  green  leaves  chanting  orisons  to 
the  wind,  the  never  completed  epic  of  heaven's  lofty 
solitudes  where  the  white  moon  paces,  wandering  like  a 
maiden  in  search  of  love;  all  these  and  other  unnunv 


1*0  "ARDATH* 

bered  joys  he  has  lost — joys  that  Sah-luma,  child  of  the. 
high  gods  and  favorite  of  Destiny,  drinks  in  with  tl.e 
light  and  the  air !" 

His  eyes  softend  with  a  dreamy,  intense  luster  thit 
gave  them  a  new  and  almost  pathetic  beauty,  while 
Theos,  listening  to  each  word  he  uttered,  wondered 
whether  there  were  ever  any  sounds  sweeter  than  the 
rise  and  fall  of  his  exquisite  voice — a  voice  as  deli- 
ciously  clear  and  mellow  as  a  golden  flute  tenderly 
played. 

"Yes,  though  we  must  laugh  at  Zabastes  we  should 
also  pity  him,"  he  resumed  in  gayer  accents.  'His  fate 
is  not  enviable!  He  is  nothing  but  a  critic — he  could 
not  well  be  a  lesser  man — one  who,  unable  himself  to  do 
any  great  work,  takes  refuge  in  finding  fault  with  the 
works  of  others.  And  those  who  abhor  true  poesy  are  in 
time  themselves  abhorred;  the  balance  of  Justice  never 
errs  in  these  things.  The  poet  wins  the  whole  world  s 
love,  and  immortal  fame — his  adverse  critic  brief  con- 
tempt, and  measureless  oblivion"  Come!"  he  added, 
addressing  Theos,  "we  will  leave  these  maidens  to  their 
duties  and  pastimes.  Niphrata!"  here  his  dazzling 
smile  flashed  like  a  beam  of  sunlight  over  his  face, 
"thou  wilt  bring  us  fruit  and  wine  yonder;  we  shall  pass 
the  afternoon  together  within-doors.  Bid  my  steward 
prepare  the  rose  chamber  for  my  guest,  and  let  Athazel 
and  Zimra  attend  there  to  wait  upon  him." 

All  the  maidens  saluted,  touching  their  heads  as  with 
their  hands  in  token  of  obedience,  and  Sah-luma,  leading 
the  way,  courteously  beckoned  Theos  to  follow.  He  did 
so,  conscious  as  he  went  of  two  distinct  impressions: 
first,  that  the  mysterious  mental  agitation  he  had  suffered 
from  when  he  had  found  himself  so  unexpectedly  in  a 
strange  city, was  now  completely  dispelled;  and  secondly, 
that  he  felt  as  though  he  must  have  known  Sah-Juma 
all  his  life  !  His  memcr)'  still  remained  a  blank  as  regarded 
his. past  career,  but  this  fact  had  ceased  to  trouble  him, 
and  he  was  perfectly  tanquil,  and  altogether  satisfied 
with  his  present  surroundings.  In  short,  to  be  in  Al- 
Kyris  seemed  to  him  quite  in  keeping  with  the  necessaify 
course  of  events,  while  to  be  the  friend  and  companion 
of  Sah  luma  was  more  natural  and  familiar  to  his  miitd 
all  onqe  natural  ancj  familiar  things  1 


A   POET  S   PALACE  121 

CHAPTER  III. 

A   POET'S    PALACE. 

GLIDING  along  with  that  graceful,  almost  phantom- 
like  swiftness  of  movement  that  was  so  much  a  part  of 
his  manner,  Sah-luma  escorted  his  visitor  to  the  further 
end  of  the  great  hall.  There,  throwing  aside  a  curtain 
of  rich  azure  silk  which  partially  draped  two  large  fold- 
ing-doors, he  ushered  him  into  a  magnificent  apartment 
opening  out  upon  the  terrace  and  garden  beyond — a  gar- 
den filled  with  such  a  marvelous  profusion  of  foliage  and 
flowers,  that,  looking  at  it  from  between  the  glistening 
marble  columns  surrounding  the  palace,  it  seemed  as 
though  the  very  sky  above  rested  edge-wise  on  towering 
pyramids  of  red  and  white  bloom.  Awnings  of  pale  blue 
stretched  from  the  windows  across  the  entire  width  of 
the  spacious  outer  colonnade,  and  here,  two  small  boys, 
half-nude,  and  black  as  polished  ebony,  were  huddled 
together  on  the  mosaic  pavement,  watching  the  arrogant 
deportment  of  a  superb  peacock  that  strutted  majestically 
to  and  fro  with  boastfully  spreading  tail  and  glittering 
crest  as  brilliant  as  the  gleam  of  the  hot  sun  on  the 
silver  fringe  of  the  azure  canopies. 

"Up,  lazy  rascals!"  cried  Sah-luma  imperiously,  as 
with  the  extreme  point  of  his  sandaled  foot  he  touched 
the  dimpled,  shiny  back  of  the  nearest  boy.  "Up,  and 
away!  Fetch  rose-water  and  sweet  perfumes  hither. 
By  the  gods!  ye  have  let  the  incense  in  yonder  burner 
smoulder!"  and  he  pointed  to  a  massive  brazen  vessel, 
gorgeously  ornamented,  from  whence  rose  but  the  very 
faintest  blue  whiff  of  fragrant  smoke  "Off  witrrye  both, 
ye  basking  blackamoors!  bring  fresh  frankincense,  and 
palm  leaves  wherewith  to  stir  this  heated  air;  hence  and 
back  again  like  a  lightning -flash!  or  out  of  my  sight 
forever!" 

While  he  spoke,  the  little  fellows  stood  trembling  and 
ducking  their  woolly  heads,  as  though  they  half  expected 
to  be  seized  by  their  irate  master  and  flung,  like  black 
balls,  out  into  the  wilderness  of  flowers,  but  glancing 


122  "ARDATH" 

timidly  up  and  perceiving  that  even  in  the  midst  of  his 
petulance  he  smiled,  they  took  courage,  and  as  soon  as 
he  had  paused,  they  darted  off  with  the  swiftness  of  fly- 
ing arrows,  each  striving  to  outstrip  the  other  in  a  race 
across  the  terrace  and  garden.  Sah-luma  laughed  as  he 
watched  them  disappear,  and  then  stepping  back  into 
the  interior  of  the  apartment,  he  turned  to  Theos  and 
bade  him  be  seated.  Theos  sank  unresistingly  into  a 
low,  velvet-cushioned  chair,  richly  carved  and  inlaid  with 
ivory,  and  stretching  his  limbs  indolently  therein,  sur- 
veyed with  new  and  ever-growing  admiration  the  supple, 
elegant  figure  of  his  host,  who,  throwing  himself  full 
length  on  a  couch  covered  with  leopard  skins,  folded  his 
arms  behind  his  head,  and  eyed  his  guest  with  a  com- 
placent smile  of  vanity  and  self-approval. 

'"Tis  not  an  altogether  unfitting  retreat  for  a  poet's 
musings,"  he  said,  assuming  an  air  of  indifference,  as  he 
glanced  round  his  luxurious,  almost  royally  appointed 
room;  "I  have  heard  of  worse.  But  truly  it  needs  the 
highest  art  of  all  known  nations  to  worthily  deck  a  hab- 
itation wherein  the  divine  Muse  may  daily  dwell  ;  never- 
theless, air,  light,  and  flowers  are  not  lacking,  and  on 
these,  methinks,  I  could  subsist  were  I  deprived  of  all 
other  things." 

Theos  sat  silent,  looking  about  him  wistfully.  Was 
ever  poet,  king,  or  even  emperor,  housed  more  sumptu- 
ously than  this?  he  thought,  as  his  eyes  wandered  to  the 
domed  ceiling,  wreathed  with  carved  clusters  of  grapes 
and  pomegranates;  the  walls,  frescoed  with  glowing 
scenes  of  love  and  song-tournament;  the  groups  of  superb 
statuary  that  gleamed  whitely  out  of  dusky  velvet-draped 
corners;  the  quaintly  shaped  book-cases,  overflowing 
with  books,  and  made  so  as  to  revolve  round  and  round 
at  a  touch,  or  move  to  and  fro  on  noiseless  wheels;  the 
grand  busts,  both  in  bronze  and  marble,  that  stood  on 
tall  pedestals  or  projecting  brackets;  and,  while  he  dimly 
noted  all  these  splendid  evidences  of  unlimited  wealth 
and  luxury,  the  perfume  and  luster  of  the  place,  the 
glitter  of  gold  and  azure,  silver  and  scarlet,  the  Orien- 
tal languor  pervading  the  very  air,  and  above  all  the  rich 
amber  and  azure-tinted  light  that  bathed  every  object 
in  a  dream-like  and  fairy  radiance,  plunged  his  senses 
into  a  delicious  confusion,  a  throbbing  fever  of  delight 


A  POET'S  PALACE  123 

to  which  he  could  give    no  name,  but    which    permeated 
every  fiber  of  his  being. 

He  felt  half-blinded  with  the  brilliancy  of  the  scene, 
the  dazzling  glow  of  color,  the  sheen  of  deep  and  deli- 
cate hues  cunningly  intermixed  and  contrasted,  the  gor- 
geous lavishness  of  waving  blossoms  that  seemed  to  surge 
up  like  a  sea  to  the  very  windows,  and  though  many 
thoughts  flitted  hazily  through  his  brain,  he  could  not 
shape  them  into  utterance.  He  stared  vaguely  at  the 
floor;  it  was  paved  with  variegated  mosaic  and  strewn 
with  the  soft,  dark,  furry  skins  of  wild  animals.  At  a 
little  distance  from  where  he  sat  there  was  a  huge 
bronze  lectern,  supported  by  a  sculptured  griffin  with 
horns — horns  which,  curving  over  at  the  top,  turned  up- 
ward again  in  the  form  of  candelabra.  The  harp-bearer 
had  brought  in  the  harp,  and  it  now  stood  in  a  conspic- 
uous position,  decked  with  myrtle,  some  of  the  garlands 
woven  by  the  maidens  being  no  doubt  used  for  this  pur- 
pose. 

Yet  there  was  something  mirage-like  and  fantastic  in 
the  splendor  that  everywhere  surrounded  him;  he  felt 
as  though  he  were  one  of  the  spectators  in  a  vast  audi- 
torium where  the  curtain  had  just  risen  on  the  first 
scenes  of  the  play.  He  was  dubiously  considering,  in 
his  own  perplexed  mind,  whether  such  princely  living 
were  the  privilege,  or  right,  or  custom  of  poets  in  gen- 
eral, when  Sah-luma  spoke  again,  waving  his  hands 
toward  one  of  the  busts  near  him — a  massive,  frowning 
head,  magnificently  sculptured. 

"There  is  the  glorious  Oruzel!"  he  said.  "The  father, 
as  we  all  must  own,  of  the  art  of  poesy,  and  indeed  of 
all  true  literature.  Yet  there  be  some  who  swear  he 
never  lived  at  all — ay!  though  his  poems  have  come 
down  to  us;  and  many  are  the  arguments  I  have  had 
with  so-called  wise  men  like  Zabastes,  concerning  his 
style  and  method  of  versification.  Everything  he  has 
written  bears  the  impress  of  the  same  master-touch; 
nevertheless,  garrulous  controversialists  hold  that  his 
famous,  work  the  'Ruva  Kalama,'  descended  by  oral  tra- 
dition from  mouth  to  mouth  till  it  came  to  us  in  its 
'improved'  present  condition.  'Improved!'"  and  Sah- 
luma  laughed  disdainfully.  "As  if  the  mumbling  of  an 
epic  poem  from  grandsire  to  grandson  could  possibly 


1 24 

improve  it.  It  would  rather  be  deteriorated,  if  not  al- 
together changed  into  the  merest  doggerel.  Nay,  nay! 
the  'Ruva-Kalama'  is  the  achievement  of  one  great 
mind — not  twenty  Oruzels  were  born  in  succession  to 
write  it;  there  was,  there  could  be,  only  one,  and  he, 
by  right  supreme,  is  chief  of  the  bards  immortal.  As 
well  might  fools  hereafter  wrangle  together  and  say  there 
were  many  Sah-lumas!  only  I  have  taken  good  heed 
posterity  shall  know  there  was  only  one,  unmatched  for 
love-impassioned  singing  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  world!" 

He  sprang  up  from  his  recumbent  posture  and  attracted 
Theos'  attention  to  another  bust  even  finer  than  the 
last;  it  was  placed  on  a  pedestal  wreathed  at  the  sum- 
mit and  at  the  base  with  laurel. 

"The  divine  Hyspiros!"  he  exclaimed,  pointing  to  it 
in  a  sort  of  ecstasy.  "The  master  from  whom,  it  matr 
be,  I  have  caught  the  perfect  entrancement  of  my  own 
verse-melody.  His  fame,  as  thou  knowest,  is  unrivaled 
and  universal;  yet — canst  thou  believe  it — there  hat'* 
been  of  late  an  ass  found  in  Al-Kyris  who  hath  chosei 
him  as  a  subject  for  his  braying,  and  other  asses  join 
in  the  uneuphonious  chorus.  The  marvelous  plays  cf 
Hyspiros!  the  grandest  tragedies,  the  airiest  comedies, 
the  tenderest  fantasies  ever  created  by  human  brain,  have 
been  called  in  question  by  these  thistle-eating  animals; 
and  one  most  untractable  mule-head  hath  made  pretense 
to  discover  therein  a  passage  of  secret  writing  which 
shall,  so  the  fool  thinks,  prove  that  Hyspiros  was  not 
the  author  of  his  own  works,  but  only  a  literary  cheat, 
and  forger  of  another  and  lesser  man's  inspiration.  By 
the  gods  I  one's  sides  would  split  with  lauphter  at  the 
silly  brute,  were  he  not  altogether  too  contemptible  to 
provoke  even  derision!  Hyspiros  a  traitor  to  the  art  he 
served  and  glorified?  Hyspiros  a  literary  juggler  and 
trickster?  By  the  serpent's  head!  they  may  as  well  seek 
to  prove  the  fiery  sun  in  heaven  a  common  oil  lamp,  as 
strive  to  lessen  by  one  iota  the  transcendent  glory  of 
the  noblest  poet  the  centuries  have  ever  seen!" 

Warmed  by  enthusiasm,  with  his  eyes  flashing  and  the 
impetuous  words  coursing  from  his  lips,  his  head  thrown 
back,  his  hand  uplifted,  Sah-luma  looked  magnificent ; 
Theos,  to  whose  misty  brain  the  names  of  Oru/fc) 


A  POET'S  PALACE  125 

dud  Hyspiros  carried  no  positively  distinct  meaning, 
was  nevertheless  struck  by  a  certain  suggestiveness  in 
his  remarks  that  seemed  to  bear  on  some  discussion  in 
the  literary  world  that  had  taken  place  quite  recently. 
He  was  puzzled,  and  tried  to  fix  the  precise  point  round 
which  his  thoughts  strayed  so  hesitatingly,  but  he  could 
arrive  at  no  definite  conclusion.  The  brilliant  meteor- 
like  Sah-luma  meantime  flashed  hither  and  thither  about 
the  room,  selecting  certain  volumes  from  his  loaded 
book-stands,  and  bringing  them  in  a  pile,  he  set  them 
on  a  small  table  by  his  visitor's  side. 

"These  are  some  of  the  earliest  editions  of  the  plays 
of  Hyspiros,"  he  went  on,  talking  in  that  rapid,  fluent 
way  of  his  that  was  as  musical  as  a  bird's  song.  "They 
are  rare  and  curious.  See  you !  the  names  of  the  scribes 
and  the  dates  of  issue  are  all  distinct.  Ah!  the  treasures 
of  poetry  enshrined  within  these  pages!  Was  ever  pa- 
pyrus so  gemmed  with  pearls  of  thought  and  wisdom?  If 
there  were  a  next  world,  my  friend,"  and  here  he  placed 
his  hand  familiarly  on  his  guest's  shoulder,  while  the 
bright  steel-gray  under  gleam  sparkled  in  his  splendid 
eyes,  "'twould  be  worth  dwelling  in  for  the  sake  of  Hys- 
piros, as  grand  a  god  as  any  of  the  thunderers  in  the 
empyrean!" 

"Surely  there  is  a  next  world,"  murmured  Theos, 
scarcely  knowing  what  he  said.  "A  world  where  thou 
and  I,  Sah-luma,  and  all  the  masters  and  servants  of 
song  shall  meet  and  hold  high  festival!" 

Sah-luma  laughed  again,  a  little  sadly  this  time,  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Believe  it  not!"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  touch  of 
melancholy  in  his  rich  voice.  "We  are  midgets  in  a  sun- 
beam— emmets  on  a  sand-hill,  no  more.  Is  there  a  next 
world,  thinkest  thou,  for  the  bees  who  die  of  surfeit  in 
the  nilica-cups?  for  the  whirling  drift  of  brilliant  butter- 
flies that  sleepily  float  with  the  wind  unknowing  whither, 
till,  met  by  the  icy  blast  of  the  north,  they  fall  like 
broken  and  colorless  leaves  in  the  dust  of  the  high  road? 
Is  there  a  next  world  for  this?"  and  he  took  from  a  tall 
vase  near  at  hand  a  delicate  flower,  lily  shaped  and  de- 
liciously  odorous.  "The  expression  of  its  soul  or  mind 
is  in  its  fragrance,  even  as  the  expression  of  ours  finds 
vent  in  thought  and  aspiration;  have  we  more  right  tn 


til 

Jive  again  than  this  most  innocently  fair  blossom,  un- 
smirched  by  deeds  of  evil?  Nay!  I  would  more  easily 
believe  in  a  heaven  for  birds  and  flowers,  than  for 
women  and  men!" 

A  shadow  of  pain  darkened  his  handsome  face  as  he 
spoke,  and  Theos,  gazing  full  at  him,  became  suddenly 
filled  with  pity  and  anxiety;  he  passionately  longed  to 
assure  him  that  there  was  in  very  truth  a  future  higher 
and  happier  existence — he,  Theos,  would  vouch  for  the 
fact!  But  how?  and  why?  What  could  he  say?  what 
could  he  prove? 

His  throat  ached,  his  eyeballs  burned;  he  was,  as  it 
were,  forbidden  to  speak,  notwithstanding  the  yearning 
desire  he  felt  to  impart  to  the  soul  of  his  new-found 
friend  something  of  that  indescribable  sense  of  ever- 
last  in  gness  which  he  himself  was  now  conscious  of, 
even  as  one  set  free  of  prison  is"  conscious  of  liberty. 
Mute,  and  with  a  feeling  as  of  hot,  unshed  tears  welling 
up  from  his  very  heart,  he  turned  over  the  volumes  of 
Hyspiros  almost  mechanically;  they  were  formed  of 
sheets  of  papyrus  artistically  bound  in  loose  leather  cov- 
erings and  tied  together  with  gold-colored  ribbon. 

The  Kyrisian  language  was,  as  has  been  before  stated, 
perfectly  familiar  to  him,  though  he  could  not  tell  how 
he  had  acquired  the  knowledge  of  it,  and  he  was  able  to 
see  at  a  glance  that  Sah-luma  had  good  cause  to  be  en- 
thusiastic in  his  praise  of  the  author  whose  genius  he 
so  fervently  admired.  There  was  a  ringing  richness  in 
the  rush  of  the  verse,  a  wealth  of  simile,  combined  with 
a  simplicity  and  directness  of  utterance,  that  charmed 
the  ear  while  influencing  the  mind,  and  he  was  begin- 
ning to  read  in  sotto  voce  the  opening  lines  of  a  spir- 
ited battle-challenge  running  thus: 

"I  tell  thee,  O  thou  pride-enthroned  King, 
That  from  these  peaceful  fields,  these  harvest  lands, 
Strange  crops  shall  spring,  not  sown  by  thee  or  thine! 
Arm'd  millions,  bristling  weapons,  helmed  men 
Dreadfully  plum'd  and  eager  for  the  fray, 
Steel-crested  myrmidons,  toss'd  spears,  wild  steeds, 
Uplifted  flags  and  pennons,  horrid  swords, 
Death-gleaming  eyes,  stern  hands  to  grasp  and  tear 
Life  from  beseeching  life,  till  all  the  heavens 
Shriek  havoc  to  the  terror-trembling  stars" 

when  the  two  small  black  pages  lately  dispatched  in 
such  haste  by  Sah-luma  returned,  each  one  bearing  a 


A  POET'SPALACE  127 

huge  gilded  bowl  filled  with  rose-water,  together  with 
fine  linen  cloths,  lace-fringed,  and  soft  as  satin. 

Kneeling  humbly  down,  one  before  Theos,  the  other 
before  Sah-luma,  they  lifted  these  great  shining  bowls 
on  their  heads,  and  remained  motionless.  Sah-luma 
dipped  his  face  and  hands  in  the  cool,  fragrant  fluid — 
Theos  followed  his  example;  and  when  these  light  ablu- 
tions were  completed,  the  pages  disappeared,  coming 
back  almost  immediately  with  baskets  of  loose  rose- 
leaves,  white  and  red,  which  they  scattered  profusely 
about  the  room.  A  delightful  odor,  subtly  sweet  and  yet 
not  faint,  began  to  freshen  the  already  perfumed  aiv, 
and  Sah-luma,  flinging  himself  again  on  his  couch,  mo- 
tioned Theos  to  take  a  similar  resting-place  opposite. 

He  at  once  obeyed,  yielding  anew  to  the  sense  of  in- 
dolent luxury  and  voluptuous  ease  his  surroundings 
engendered,  and  presently  the  aroma  of  rising  incense 
mingled  itself  with  the  scent  of  the  strewn  rose-petals; 
the  pages  had  replenished  the  incense-burner,  and  now, 
these  duties  done  so  far,  they  brought  each  a  broad,  long- 
stalked  palm-leaf,  and,  placing  themselves  in  proper  posi- 
tion, began  to  fan  the  two  young  men  slowly  and  with 
measured  gentleness,  standing  as  mute  as  little  black 
statues,  the  only  movement  about  them  being  the  occa- 
sional rolling  of  their  white  eyeballs  and  the  swaying  to 
and  fro  of  their  shiny  arms  as  they  wielded  the  graceful, 
bending  leaves. 

"This  is  the  way  a  poet  should  ever  live!"  murmured 
Theos,  glancing  up  from  the  soft  cushions  among  which 
he  reclined,  to  San  iuma,  who  lay  with  his  eyes  half 
closed  and  a  musing  smile  on  his  beautiful  mouth. 
"Self-centered  in  a  circle  of  beauty,  with  naught  but  fair 
suggestions  and  sweet  thoughts  to  break  the  charm  of 
solitude.  A  kingdom  of  happy  fancies  should  be  his, 
with  gates  shut  fast  against  unwelcome  intruders — gates 
that  should  never  open  save  to  the  conquering  touch  of 
woman's  kiss!  for  the  master-key  of  love  must  unlock 
all  doors,  even  the  doors  of  a  minstrel's  dreaming!" 

"Thinkest  thou  so?"  said  Sah-luma  lazily,  turning  his 
dark,  delicate  head  slightly  round  on  his  glistening  pale- 
rose  satin  pillow.  "Nay,  of  a  truth  there  are  times  when 
I  could  bar  out  women  from  my  thoughts  as  mere  dis- 
turbers of  the  translucent  element  of  poesy  in  which  my 


1 28  "ARDATH" 

spirit  bathes.  There  is  fatigue  in  love;  these  pretty 
human  butterflies  too  oft  weary  the  flower  whose  honey 
they  seek  to  drain.  Nevertheless,  the  passion  of  Jove 
hath  a  certain  tingling  pleasure  in  it— I  yield  to  it  when 
it  touches  me,  even  as  I  yield  to  all  other  pleasant 
things;  but  there  are  some  who  unwisely  carry  desire  too 
far  and  make  of  love  a  misery  instead  of  a  pastime. 
Many  will  die  for  love — fools  are  they  all!  To  die  for 
fame — for  glory — that  I  can  understand;  but  for  love!" 
He  laughed,  and  taking  up  a  crushed  rose-petal,  he 
flipped  it  into  the  air  with  his  finger  and  thumb.  "I 
would  as  soon  die  for  sake  of  that  perished  leaf  as  for 
sake  of  a  woman's  transient  beauty! " 

As  he  uttered  these  words  Niphrata  entered,  carrying 
a  golden  salver  on  which  were  placed  a  tall  flagon,  two 
goblets,  and  a  basket  of  fruit.  She  approached  Theos 
first,  and  he,  raising  himself  on  his  elbow,  surveyed 
her  with  fresh  admiration  and  interest  while  he  poured 
out  wine  from  the  flagon  into  one  of  those  glittering 
cups,  which  he  noticed  were  rough  with  the  quantity  of 
small  gems  used  in  their  outer  ornamentation. 

He  was  struck  by  her  fair  and  melancholy  style  of 
loveliness,  and  as  she  stood  before  him  with  lowered 
eyes,  the  color  alternately  flushing  and  paling  on  her 
cheeks,  and  her  bosom  heaving  restlessly  beneath  the 
loosely  drawn  folds  of  her  primrose-hued  gown,  an  in- 
explicable emotion  of  pity  smote  him,  as  if  he  had  sud- 
denly been  made  aware  of  some  inward  sorrow  of  hers 
which  he  was  utterly  powerless  to  console.  He  would 
have  spoken,  but  just  then  could  find  nothing  appropriate 
to  say;  and  when  he  had  selected  a  fine  peach  from  the 
heaped-up  dainties  offered  for  his  choice,  he  still  watched 
her  as  she  turned  to  Sah-Iuma,  who  smiled,  and  bade 
her  set  down  her  salver  on  a  low  bronze  stand  at  his 
side.  She  did  so,  and  then  with  the  warm  blood  burning 
in  her  cheeks, stood  waiting  and  silent.  Sah-luma,  with 
a  lithe  movement  of  his  supple  form,  lifted  himself  into 
a  half-sitting  posture,  and,  throwing  one  arm  round  her 
waist,  drew  her  close  to  his  breast  and  kissed  her. 

"My  fairest  moonbeam!"  he  said  gayly.  "Thou  art  as 
noiseless  and  placid  as  thy  yet  unembodied  sisters  that 
stream  through  heaven  and  dance  on  the  river  when  the 
world  is  sleeping.  Myrtle!"  and  he  detached  a  spray  from 


A  POET'S  PALACE  129 

tbe  bosom  of  her  dress.  "What  hast  thou  to  do  with  the 
poet's  garland?  By  my  faith,  thou  art  like  Theos  yon- 
der, and  hast  chosen  to  wear  a  sprig  of  my  faded  crown 
for  thine  adornment — is't  not  so?"  A  hot  and  painful 
blush  crimsoned  Niphrata's  face,  a  softness  as  of  sup 
pressed  tears  glistened  in  her  e)'es;  she  made  no  answer, 
out  looked  beseechingly  at  the  little  twig  Sah-luma 
held.  "Silly  child!"  he  went  on  laughingly,  replacing  it 
himself  against  her  bosom,  where  the  breath  seemed  to 
struggle  with  such  panting  haste  and  fear.  "Thou  art 
welcome  to  the  dead  leaves  sanctified  by  song,  if  thou 
thinkest  them  of  value;  but  I  would  rather  see  the  rose- 
bud of  love  nestled  in  that  pretty  white  breast  of  thine, 
than  the  cast-off  ornaments  of  fame!" 

And,  filling  himself  a  cup  of  wine,  he  raised  it  aloft, 
looking  at  Theos  smilingly  as  he  did  so. 

"To  your  health,  my  noble  friend!"  he  cried.  "And 
to  the  joys  of  the  passing  hour!" 

"A  wise  toast!"  answered  Theos,  placing  his  lips  to 
his  own  goblet's  rim.  "For  the  past  is  past,  'twill  never 
return;  the  future  we  know  not,  and  only  the  present 
can  be  called  our  own  !  To  the  health  of  the  divine  Sah- 
luma,  whose  fame  is  my  glory!  whose  friendship  is  dear 
to  me  as  life!" 

And  with  this,  he  drained  off  the  wine  to  the  last  drop. 
Scarcely  had  he  done  so,  when  the  most  curious  sensa- 
tion overcame  him — a  sensation  of  bewildering  ecstasy,  as 
though  he  had  drunk  of  some  ambrosial  nectar  or  magic 
drug  which  had  suddenly  wound  up  his  nerves  to  an 
acute  tension  of  indescribable  delight.  The  blood  coursed 
more  swiftly  through  his  veins;  he  felt  his  face  flush 
with  the  impulsive  heat  and  ardor  of  the  moment ;  he 
laughed  as  he  set  the  cup  down  empty;  and  throwing 
himself  back  on  his  luxurious  couch,  his  eyes  flashed  on 
Sah-luma's  with  a  bright,  comprehensive  glance  of  com- 
plete confidence  and  affection.  It  was  strange  to  note 
how  quickly  Sah-luma  returned  that  glance;  how  thor- 
oughly, in  so  short  a  space  of  time,  their  friendship  had 
cemented  itself  into  a  more  than  fraternal  bond  of  union! 
Niphrata  meanwhile  stood  a  little  aside,  her  wistful  look 
wandering  from  one  to  the  other  as  though  in  something 
of  doubt  or  wonder.  Presently  she  spoke,  inclining  her 
fair  head  toward  Sah-luma 


130  "ARDATH" 

"My  lord  goes  to  the  palace  to-night  to  make  his  val- 
ued voice  heard  in  the  presence  of  the  king?"  she  in- 
quired timidly. 

"Even  so,  Niphrata!"  responded  the  laureate,  pass- 
ing his  hand  carelessly  through  his  clustering  curls.  "I 
have  been  summoned  thither  by  the  royal  command. 
But  what  of  that,  little  one?  Thou  knowest  'tis  a 
common  occurrence,  and  that  the  court  is  bereft  of  all 
pleasure  and  sweetness  when  Sah-luma  is  silent!" 

"My  lord's  guest  goes  with  him?"  pursued  Niphrata 
gently. 

"Ay,  most  assuredly!"  and  Sah-luma  smiled  at  Theos 
as  he  spoke.  "Thou  wilt  accompany  me  to  the  king, 
my  friend?"  he  went  on.  "He  will  give  thee  a  welcome 
for  my  sake,  and  though  of  a  truth  his  majesty  is  most 
potently  ignorant  of  all  things  save  the  arts  of  love  and 
warfare,  nevertheless  he  is  man  as  well  as  monarch,  and 
thou  wilt  find  him  noble  in  his  greeting  and  generous  of 
hospitality." 

"I  will  go  with  thee,  Sah-luma,  anywhere!"  replied 
Theos  quickly.  "For,  in  following  such  a  guide,  I  fol- 
low my  own  most  perfect  pleasure!" 

Niphrata  looked  at  him  meditatively,  with  a  melan- 
choly expression  in  her  lovely  eyes. 

"My  lord  Sah-luma's  presence  indeed  brings  joy!"  she 
said  softly  and  tremulously.  "But  the  jo)'  is  too  sweet 
and  brief,  for  when  he  departs  none  can  fill  the  place  he 
leaves  vacant!"  She  paused.  Sah-luma's  gaze  rested 
on  her  intently,  a  half-amused,  half  tender  light  leaping 
from  under  the  drooping  shade  of  his  long,  silky  black 
lashes.  She  caught  the  look,  and  a  little  shiver  ran 
through  her  delicate  frame;  she  pressed  one  hand  en  her 
heart,  and  resumed  in  steadier  and  more  even  tones:  "My 
lord  has  perhaps  not  heard  of  the  disturbances  of  the 
early  morning  in  the  city?"  she  asked.  '  The  riotous 
crowd  in  the  market-place,  the  ravings  of  the  Prophet 
Khosrul,  the  sudden  arrest  and  imprisonment  of  many, 
and  the  consequent  wrath  of  the  king?" 

"No,  by  my  faith!"  returned  Sah-luma,  yawning  slight- 
ly and  settling  his  head  more  comfortably  on  his  pillows. 
"Nor  do  I  care  to  heed  the  turbulence  of  a  mob  that 
cannot  guide  itself  and  yet  resists  all  guidance.  Ar- 
rests? imprisonments?  they  are  common;  but  why  in  the 


A  POET'S  PALACE  131 

iume  of  the  sacred  veil  do  they  not  arrest  and  imprison 
the  actual  disturbers  of  the  peace,  the  mystics  and  phi- 
losophers whose  street  orations  filter  through  the  minds 
of  the  disaffected,  rousing  them  to  foolish  frenzy  and 
disordered  action?  Why,  above  all  men,  do  they  not 
seize  Khosrul?  a  veritable  madman,  for  all  his  many 
years  and  seeming  wisdom!  Hath  he  not  denounced 
the  faith  of  Nagaya  and  foretold  the  destruction  of  the 
city  times  out  of  number?  and  are  we  not  wear  to  death 
of  his  bombastic  mouthing?  If  the  king  deemed  a  poet's 
counsel  worth  the  taking,  he  would  long  ago  have  shut 
this  bearded  ranter  within  the  four  walls  of  a  dungeon, 
where  only  rats  and  spiders  would  attend  his  lectures  on 
approaching  doom!" 

"Nay,  but,  my  lord,"  Niphrata  ventured  to  say  timidly, 
"the  king  dare  not  lay  hands  on  Khosrul — " 

"Dare  not!"  laughed  Sah-luma,  lazily  stretching  out 
his  hand  and  helping  himself  to  a  luscious  nectarine 
from  the  basket  at  his  side.  "Sweet  Niphrata,  settest 
thou  a  limit  to  the  power  of  th«  king?  As  well  draw  a 
boundary  line  for  the  imagination  of  the  poet!  Khosrul 
may  be  loved  and  feared  by  a  certain  pumber  of  supersti- 
tious malcontents  who  look  upon  a  madman  as  a  sort 
of  sacred  wild  animal;  but  the  actual  population  of  Al- 
Kyris,  the  people  who  are  the  blood,  bone,  and  sinew 
of  the  city — these  are  not  in  favor  of  change  either  in 
religion,  laws,  manners,  or  customs.  But  Khosrul  is  old, 
and  that  the  king  humors  his  vagaries  is  simply  out  ol 
pity  for  his  age  and  infirmity,  Niphrata,  not  because  ol 
fear!  Our  monarch  knows  no  fear!" 

"Khosrul  prophesies  terrible  things!"  murmured  the 
girl  hesitatingly.  "1  have  often  thought — if  they  should 
come  true!" 

"Thou  timid  dove!"  and  Sah-luma,  rising  from  hi« 
couch,  kissed  her  neck  lightly,  thus  causing  a  delicate 
flush  of  crimson  to  ripple  through  the  whiteness  of  her 
skin.  "Think  no  more  of  such  folly — thou  wilt  anger 
me!  That  a  doting  graybeard  like  Khosrul  should  trouble 
the  peace  of  Al-Kyris  the  Magnificent!  By  the  gods! 
the  whole  thing  is  absurd !  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  mobs 
or  riots,  or  road-rhetoric;  my  soul  abhors  even  the  sug- 
gestion of  discord.  Tranquility!  Divinest  calm,  dis- 
turbed only  by  the  flutterings  of  winged  thoughts  hovering 


132  "ARDATH" 

over  the  cloudless  heaven  of  fancy!  this — this  alone  is 
the  sum  and  center  of  my  desires,  and  to-day  I  find  that 
even  thou,  Niphrata,"  here  his  voice  took  upon  itself  an 
injured  tone,  "thou,  who  art  usually  so  gentle,  hast 
somewhat  troubled  the  placidity  of  my  mind  by  thy 
foolish  talk  concerning  common  and  unpleasant  circum 
stances — "  He  stopped  short  and  a  line  of  vexation  and 
annoyance  made  its  appearance  between  his  broad,  beau- 
tiful brows;  while  Niphrata,  seeing  this  expression  cf 
almost  baby-petulance  in  the  face  she  adored,  threw  her- 
self suddsnely  at  his  feet,  and  raising  her  lovely  eyes 
swimming  in  tears,  she  exclaimed: 

"My  lord!  Sah-luma!  Singing-angel  cf  Niphrata's 
soul!  Forgive  me!  It  is  true,  thou  shouldst  nevti  hear 
of  strife  or  contention  among  the  coarser  tribe  of  men, 
and  I — I,  poor  Niphrata,  would  give  my  life  to  shield 
thee  from  the  faintest  shadow  of  annoy!  I  would  have 
thy  path  all  woven  sunbeams  ;  thou  shouldest  live  like 
a  fairy  monarch  embowered  'mid  roses,  sheltered  from 
rough  winds,  and  folded  in  loving  arms,  fairer  maybe, 
but  not  more  fond  than  mine!"  Her  voice  broke;  stoop- 
ing, she  kissed  the  silver  fastening  of  his  sandal,  and 
springing  up,  rushed  from  the  room  before  a  word  could 
be  uttered  to  bid  her  stay. 

Sah-luma  looked  after  her  with  a  pretty,  half-pleased 
perplexity. 

"She  is  often  thus!"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  playful  resig- 
nation. "As  I  told  thee,  Theos,  women  are  butterflies, 
hovering  hither  and  thither  on  uneasy  pinions,  uncertain 
of  their  own  desires.  Niphrata  is  a  woman  riddle;  some- 
times she  angers  me,  sometimes  she  soothes,  now  she 
prattles  of  things  that  concern  me  not,  and  anon  con- 
verses with  such  high  and  lofty  earnestness  of  speech, 
that  I  listen  amazed,  and  wonder  where  she  hath  gath- 
ered up  her  store  of  seeming  wisdom. " 

"Love  teaches  her  all  she  knows!"  interrupted  Theos 
quickly  and  with  a  meaning  glance. 

Sah-luma  laughed  languidly,  a  faint  color  warming 
the  clear  olive  pallor  of  his  complexion. 

"Ay,  poor  tender  little  soul,  she  loves  me,"  he  said 
carelessly.  "That  is  no  secret!  But  then  all  women 
love  me;  I  am  more  like  to  die  of  a  surfeit  of  love  than 
of  anything  clsel"  He  moved  toward  the  open  window, 


THE   SUMMONS   OF  THE   SIGNET  133 

"Come,"  he  added.  "It  is  the  hour  of  sunset;  there  is 
a  green  hillock  in  my  garden  yonder  from  whence  we  can 
behold  the  pomp  and  panoply  of  the  golden  god's  depart- 
ure. 'Tis  a  sight  I  never  miss;  I  would  have  thee  share 
its  glory  with  me." 

"But  art  thou,  then  indifferent  to  woman's  tenderness?" 
asked  Theos  half-banteringly  as  he  took  his  arm.  "Dost 
thou  love  no  one?" 

"My  friend,"  replied  Sah-luma  seriously,  "I  love  my- 
self! I  see  naught  that  contents  me  more  than  my  own 
personality,  and  with  all  my  heart  I  admire  the  miracle 
and  beauty  of  my  own  existence!  There  is  nothing  even 
in  the  completest  fairness  of  womanhood  that  satisfies 
me  so  much  as  the  contemplation  of  my  own  genius,  re- 
alizing as  I  do  its  wondrous  power  and  perfect  charm! 
The  life  of  a  poet  such  as  I  am  is  a  perpetual  marvel ! 
The  whole  universe  ministers  to  my  needs;  humanity 
becomes  the  merest  bound  slave  to  the  caprice  of  my 
imperial  imagination.  With  a  thought  I  scale  the  stars — 
with  a  wish  I  float  in  highest  ether  among  spheres  un- 
discovered, yet  familiar  to  my  fancy.  I  converse  with 
the  spirits  of  flowers  and  fountains, and  the  love  of  woman 
is  a  mere  drop  in  the  deep  ocean  of  my  unfathome3 
delight.  Yes,  I  adore  my  own  identity,  and  of  a  truth 
self-worship  is  the  only  creed  the  world  has  ever  followed 
faithfully  to  the  end." 

He  glanced  up  with  a  bright,  assured  smile.  Theos 
met  his  gaze  wonderingly,  doubtfully,  but  made  no  reply, 
and  together  they  paced  slowly  across  the  marble  ter- 
race, and  out  into  the  glorious  garden,  rich  with  the 
riotous  roses  that  clambered  and  clustered  everywhere, 
their  hues  deepening  to  flame-like  vividness  in  the  burn- 
ing radiance  of  the  sinking  sun. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   SUMMONS   OF  THE   SIGNET. 

THEY  walked  side  by  side  for  some  little  time  without 
speaking,  through  winding  paths  of  alternate  light  and 
shade,  sheltered  by  the  lattice-work  of  crossed  aq4 


134  "ARDATH" 

twisted  green  boughs,  where  only  the  amorous  chant  of 
chirming  birds  now  and  then  broke  the  silence  with  lit 
ful  and  tender  sweetness.  All  the  air  about  them  was 
fragrant  and  delicate;  tiny  rainbow-winged  midges 
whirled  round  and  danced  in  the  warm  sunset  glow  like 
flecks  of  gold  in  amber  wine,  while  here  and  there  the 
distant  glimmer  of  tossing  fountains,  or  the  soft  emerald 
sheen  of  a  prattling  brook  that  wound  in  and  out  the 
grounds,  among  banks  of  moss  and  drooping  fern,  gave 
a  pleasant  touch  of  coolness  and  refreshment  to  the  bril- 
liant verdure  of  the  luxuriant  landscape. 

"Speaking  of  creeds,  Sah-luma, "  said  Theos  at  last, 
looking  down  with  a  curiousness  of  compassion  and  pro- 
tection at  his  companion's  slight,  graceful  form,  "wh;it 
religion  is  it  that  dominates  this  city  and  people?  To- 
day, through  want  of  knowledge,  it  seems  I  committed 
a  nearly  unpardonable  offense  by  gazing  at  th<;  beauty  of 
the  virgin  priestess  when  I  should  have  inelt  fac^- 
hidden  to  her  benediction;  thou  must  tell  rn*  something 
of  the  common  laws  of  worship,  that  I  err  not  thus 
blindly  again." 

Sah-luma  smiled. 

"The  common  laws  of  worship  are  the  common  laws 
of  custom,"  he  replied.  "No  more,  no  less.  And  in  this 
we  are  much  like  other  nations.  We  believi;  in  no  ac- 
tual creed — who  does?  We  accept  a  certain  given  defi- 
nition of  a  supposititious  divinity,  together  with  the 
suitable  maxims  and  code  of  morals  accompanying  that 
definition.  We  call  this  religion,  and  we  wear  it  as  we 
wear  our  clothing,  for  the  sake  of  necessity  and  decency, 
though  truly  we  are  not  half  so  concerned  about  it  as 
about  the  far  more  interesting  details  of  taste  in  attire. 
Still,  we  have  grown  used  to  our  doctrine,  and  some  of 
us  will  fight  with  each  other  for  the  difference  of  a  word 
respecting  it;  and  as  it  contains  within  itself  many 
seeds  of  discord  and  contradiction,  such  dissensions  are 
frequent,  especially  among  the  priests,  who,  were  they  but 
true  to  their  professed  vocation,  should  be  able  to  find 
ways  of  smoothing  over  all  apparent  inconsistencies,  and 
maintaining  peace  and  order.  Of  course  we,  in  union 
with  all  civilized  communities,  worship  the  sun,  even 
as  thou  must  do;  in  this  one  leading  principle  at  least, 
our  fajth  is  universal!" 


THE   SUMMONS   OF  THE   SIGNET  IJ5 

Theos  bent  his  head  in  assent.  He  was  scarcely  con- 
scious of  the  action,  but  at  that  moment  he  felt,  with 
Sah  luma,  that  there  was  no  other  form  of  divinity  ac- 
knowledged in  the  world  than  the  refulgent  orb  that 
gladdens  and  illumines  earth,  and  visibly  controls  the 
seasons 

"And  yet,"  went  on  Sah-luma  thoughtfully,  "the  well- 
instructed  know  through  our  scientists  and  astronomers 
(many  of  whom  are  now  languishing  in  prison  for  the 
boldness  of  their  researches  and  discoveries)  that  the 
sun  is  no  divinity  at  all,  but  simply  a  huge  planet,  a 
dense  body  surrounded  by  a  luminous,  flame-darting 
atmosphere,  neither  self-acting  nor  omnipotent,  but  only 
one  of  many  similar  orbs  moving  in  strict  obedience  to 
fixed  mathematical  laws.  Nevertheless,  this  knowledge 
is  wisely  kept  back  as  much  as  possible  from  the  multi- 
tude; for,  were  science  to  unveil  her  marvels  too  openly 
to  semi-educated  and  vulgarly  constituted  minds,  the  re- 
sult would  be,  first  atheism,  next  republicanism,  and 
finally  anarchy  and  ruin.  If  these  evils — which  like  birds 
of  prey  continually  hover  about  all  great  kingdoms — are 
to  be  averted,  we  must,  for  the  welfare  of  the  country 
and  people,  hold  fast  to  some  stated  form  and  outward 
observance  of  religious  belief." 

He  paused.   Theos  gave  him  a  quick,  searching  glance. 

"Even  if  such  belief  should  have  no  shadow  of  a  true 
foundation?"  he  inquired.  "Can  it  be  well  for  men  to 
cling  superstitiously  to  a  false  doctrine?" 

Sah-luma  appeared  to  consider  this  question  in  his 
own  mind  for  some  minutes  before  replying. 

"My  friend,  it  is  difficult  to  decide  what  is  false  and 
what  is  true,"  he  said  at  last  with  a  little  shrug  of  his 
shoulders;  "but  I  think  that  even  a  false  religion  is  better 
for  the  masses  than  none  at  all.  Men  are  closely  allied 
to  brutes;  if  the  moral  sense  ceases  to  restrain  them 
they  at  once  leap  the  boundary  line  and  give  as  much 
rein  to  their  desires  and  appetites  as  the  hyenas  and 
tigers.  And  in  some  natures  the  moral  sense  is  only  kept 
alive  by  fear — fear  of  offending  some  despotic  invisible 
force  that  pervades  the  universe,  and  whose  chief  and 
most  terrible  attribute  is  not  so  much  creative  as  destruc- 
tive power.  To  propitiate  and  pacify  an  unseen  supreme 
destroyer  is  the  aim  of  all  religions,  and  it  is  for  this 


136  "ARDATH" 

reason  we  add  to  our  worship  of  the  sun,  that  of  the 
white  serpent,  Nagaya  the  Mediator.  Nagaya  is  the  fa- 
vorite object  of  the  people's  adoration;  they  may  forget 
to  pay  their  vows  to  the  sun,  but  never  to  Nagaya,  who  is 
looked  upon  as  the  emblem  of  eternal  wisdom,  the  only 
pleader  whose  persuasions  avail  to  soften  the  tyrannic 
humor  of  the  invincible  devourer  of  all  things.  We  know 
how  men  hate  wisdom  and  cannot  endure  to  be  instructed, 
and  yet  they  prostrate  themselves  in  abject  crowds 
before  wisdom's  symbol  ever}'  day  in  the  sacred  temple 
yonder;  though  I  much  doubt  whether  such  constant  de- 
votional attendance  is  not  more  for  the  sake  of  Lysia, 
than  the  Deified  Worm!" 

He  laughed,  with  a  little  undercurrent  of  scorn  in  his 
laughter,  and  Theos  saw,  as  it  were,  the  lightning  of  an 
angry  or  disdainful  thought  flashing  through  the  somber 
splendor  of  his  eyes. 

"And  Lysia  is — ?"   began  Theos  suggestively. 

"The  high  priestess  of  Nagaya,"  responded  Sah-luma 
slowly.  "Charmer  of  the  god,  as  well  as  of  the  hearts 
of  men  !  The  hot  passion  of  love  is  to  her  a  toy,  clasped 
and  unclasped  so — in  the  pink  hollow  of  her  hand,"  and 
as  he  spoke  he  closed  his  fingers  softly  on  the  air  and 
unclosed  them  again  with  an  expressive  gesture.  "And 
so  long  as  she  retains  the  magic  of  her  beauty,  so  long 
will  Nagiya-worship  hold  Al-Kyris  in  check.  Otherwise — 
who  knows — there  have  been  many  disturbances  of 
late;  the  teachings  of  the  philosophers  have  aroused  a 
certain  discontent,  and  there  are  those  who  are  weary 
of  perpetual  sacrifices  and  the  shedding  of  innocent 
blood.  Moreover,  this  mad  Khosrul  of  whom  Niphrala 
spoke  lately  thunders  angry  denunciations  of  Lysia  and 
Nagaya  in  the  open  streets,  with  so  much  fervid  eloquence 
that  they  who  pass  by  cannot  choose  but  hear;  he  hath 
a  strange  craze,  a  doctrine  of  the  future  which  he  most 
furiously  proclaims  in  the  language  prophets  use.  He 
holds  that  far  away,  in  the  center  of  a  circle  of  pure 
light,  the  true  God  exists — a  vast,  all-glorious  Being  who 
with  exceeding  marvelous  love  controls  and  guides  cre- 
ation toward  some  majestic  end,  even  as  a  musician 
doth  melodize  his  thought  from  small,  sweet  notes  to 
perfect  chord-woven  harmonies.  Furthermore,  that, 
thousands  of  years  hence,  this  God  will  embody  a  por- 


THE   SUMMONS  OF  THE   SIGNET  137 

tion  of  His  own  existence  in  human  form  and  will  send 
hither  a  wondrous  creature,  half-God,  half-man,  to  live 
our  life,  die  our  death,  and  teach  us  by  precept  and 
example  the  surest  way  to  eternal  happiness.  Tis  a 
theory  both  strange  and  wild;  hast  ever  heard  of  it  be- 
fore?" 

He  put  the  question  indifferently,  but  Theos  was  mute. 

That  horrible  sense  of  a  straining  desire  to  speak  when 
speech  was  forbidden  again  oppressed  him;  he  felt  as 
though  he  were  being  strangled  with  his  own  unfailing 
tears.  What  a  crushing  weight  of  unutterable  thoughts 
burdened  his  brain!  He  gazed  up  at  the  serenely  glow- 
ing sky  in  aching,  dumb  despair,  till  slowly,  very  slowly, 
words  came  at  last  like  dull  throbs  of  pain  beating  be- 
tween his  lips: 

"I  think I  fancy — I  have  heard  a  rumor  of  such  doc- 
trine, but  I  know  as  little  of  it  as— as  thou,  Sah-luma. 
I  can  tell  thee  no  more— than  thou  hast  said."  He 
paused,  and  gaining  more  firmness  of  tone  went  on: 
seems  to  me  a  not  altogether  impossible  conception  of 
divine  benevolence,  for  if  God  lives  at  all,  He  must  be 
capable  of  manifesting  Himself  in  many  ways,  both  small 
and  great,  common  and  miraculous,  though  of  a  truth 
there  are  no  miracles  beyond  what  appear  as  such  to  our 
limited  sight  and  restricted  intelligence.  But  tell  me," 
and  here  his  voice  had  a  ring  of  suppressed  anxiety  with- 
in it,  "tell  me,  Sah-luma,  thine  own  thoughts  concern- 
ing it." 

"I?  I  think  naught  of  it,"  replied  Sah-luma  with  airy 
contempt.  ''Such  a  creed  may  find  followers  in  time  to 
come;  but  now,  of  what  avail  to  warn  us  of  things  that 
do  not  concern  our  present  modes  of  life?  Moreover, 
in  the  face  of  all  religions,  my  own  opinion  should  not 
alter;  I  have  studied  science  sufficiently  well  to  know 
that  there  is  no  God,  and  I  am  too  honest  to  worship  an 
unproved  and  merely  imaginary  identity  " 

A  shudder,  as  of  extreme  cold,  ran  through  Theos, 
veins,  and  as  if  impelled  on  by  some  invisible  monitor 
he  said,  almost  mournfully: 

"Art  thou  sure,  Sah-luma,  thou  dost  not  instinctively 
feel  that  there  is  a  higher  Power  hidden  behind  the  veil 
of  visible  nature?  and  that  in  the  far  beyond  there  may 
be  an  eternity  of  joy  where  thou  shalt  find  all  thy  grand- 
est aspirations  at  last  fulfijjed?" 


138  "ARDATH" 

Sah  luma  laughed — a  clear,  vibrating  laugh,  as  mellow 
as  the  note  of  a  thrush  in  spring-time. 

"Thou  solemn  soul!"  he  exclaimed  mirthfully.  'My 
aspirations  are  fulfilled.  I  aspire  to  no  more  than  fame, 
and  that  I  hold — that  I  shall  keep  so  long  as  this  world 
is  lighted  by  the  sun." 

"And  what  use  is  fame  to  thee  in  death?"  demanded 
Theos  with  sudden  and  emphatic  earnestness. 

Sah  luma  stood  still ;  over  his  beautiful  face  came  a 
shadow  of  intense  melancholy;  he  raised  his  brilliant 
eye  full  of  wistful  pathos  and  pleading. 

"I  pray  thee,  do  not  make  me  sad,  my  friend,"  he 
murmured  tremulously.  "These  thoughts  are  like  mut- 
tering thunder  in  my  heaven.  Death!"  and  a  quick  sigh 
escaped  him.  '"Twill  be  the  breaking  of  my  harp  and 
heart — the  last  note  of  my  failing  voice  and  ever-silenced 
song." 

A  moisture  as  of  tears  glistened  on  the  silky  fringe  of 
his  eyelids;  his  lips  quivered;  he  had  the  look  of  a 
Narcissus  regretfully  bewailing  his  own  perishable  love- 
liness. On  a  swift  impulse  of  affection  Theos  threw  one 
arm  round  his  neck  in  the  fashion  of  a  confiding  school- 
boy walking  with  his  favorite  companion. 

"Nay,thou  shall  never  die,  Sah-luma!"  he  said  with  a 
sort  of  passionate  eagerness.  "Thy  bright  soul  shall  live 
forever  in  a  sunshine  sweeter  than  that  of  earth's  fairest 
midsummer  noon.  Thy  songs  can  never  be  silenced  while 
heaven  pulsates  with  the  unwritten  music  of  the  spheres, 
and  even  were  the  crown  of  immortality  denied  to  lesser 
men,  it  is,  it  must  be  the  heritage  of  the  poet!  For  to 
him  all  crowns  belong,  all  kingdoms  are  thrown  open, a  11 
barriers  broken  down — even  those  that  divide  us  from 
the  unseen ;  and  God  Himself  has  surely  a  smile  to 
spare  for  His  singers  who  have  made  the  sad  world  joyful 
if  only  for  an  hour!" 

Sah-luma  looked  up  with  a  pleased  yet  wondering 
glance. 

"Thou  hast  a  silvery  and  persuasive  tongue!"  he  said 
gently.  "And  thou  speakest  of  God  as  if  thou  knewest 
one  akin  to  Him.  Would  I  could  believe  all  thou  sayest, 
but  alas!  I  cannot.  We  have  progressed  too  far  in  knowl- 
edge, my  friend,  for  faith,  yet —  '  He  hesitated  a  moment, 
then  with  a  touch  of  caressing  entreaty  in  his  tone  went 


THE  SUMMONS  OF  THE  SIGNET  139 

01. :  "Thinkest  thou  in  very  truth  that  I  shall  live  again? 
For  I  confess  to  thee,  it  seems  beyond  all  things  strange 
and  terrible  to  feel  that  this  genius  of  mine — this  spirit 
of  melody  which  inhabits  my  frame,  should  perish  ut- 
terly without  further  scope  for  its  abilities.  There  have 
been  moments  when  my  soul,  ravished  by  inspirations, 
has,  as  it  were,  seized  earth  like  a  full  goblet  of  wine, 
and  quaffed  its  beauties,  its  pleasures,  its  loves,  its  glo- 
ries, all  in  one  burning  draught  of  song!  when  I  have 
stood  in  thought  on  the  shadowy  peaks  of  time,  waiting 
for  other  worlds  to  string  like  beads  on  my  thread  of 
poesy  when  wondrous  creatures  habited  in  light  and 
wreathed  with  stars  have  floated  round  and  round  me  in 
rosy  circles  of  fire;  and  once,  methought — 'twas  long  ago 
now — I  heard  a  Voice  distinct  and  sweet  that  called  me 
Upward,  onward,  and  away,  I  know  not  where — save  that 
a  hidden  love  awaited  me!"  He  broke  off  with  a  rapt, 
almost  angelic  expression  in  his  eyes,  then  sighing  a 
little  he  resumed:  "All  dreams,  of  course!  vague  phan- 
toms— creations  of  my  own  imaginative  brain,  yet  fair 
enough  to  fill  my  heart  with  speechless  longings  for  ethe- 
real raptures  unseen,  unknown !  Thou  hast,  methinks, 
a  certain  faith  in  the  unsolved  mysteries,  but  I  have 
n  jne;  for  sweet  as  the  promise  of  a  future  life  may  seem, 
there  is  no  proof  that  it  shall  ever  be.  If  one  died  and 
rose  again  from  the  dead,  then  might  we  all  believe  and 
hope;  but  otherwise — " 

O  miserable  Theos!  What  would  he  not  have  given  to 
utter  aloud  the  burning  knowledge  that  ate  into  his  mind 
like  slow-devouring  fire!  Again  mute!  again  oppressed 
by  that  strange  swelling  at  the  heart  that  threatened  to 
break  forth  in  stormy  sobs  of  penitence  and  prayer!  In- 
stinctively he  drew  Sah-luma  closer  to  his  side — his 
breath  came  thick  and  fast — he  struggled  with  all  his 
might  to  speak  the  words,  "One  has  died  and  risen  from 
the  dead!"  but  not  a  syllable  could  he  form  of  the  de- 
sired sentence. 

"Thou  shalt  live  again,  Sah-luma!"  was  all  he  could 
say,  in  low,  half-smothered  accents.  "Thou  hast  within 
thee  a  flame  that  cannot  perish." 

Again  Sah-luma' s  eyes  dwelt  upon  him  with  a  curious- 
appealing  tenderness. 

"Thy  words  savor  of  sweet  consolation!"  he  said  half- 


140  "ARDATH" 

gayly,  half-sadly.  "May  they  be  fulfilled!  And  if,  indeed 
there  is  a  brighter  world  than  this  beyond  the  skies,  I 
fancy  thou  and  I  will  know  each  other  there,  as  here, 
and  be  somewhat  close  companions!  See!"  and  he  pointed 
to  a  green  hillock  that  rose  up  like  a  shining  emerald 
from  the  darker  foliage  of  the  surrounding  trees,  "yonder 
is  my  point  of  vantage,  whence  we  shall  behold  the  sun 
go  down  like  a  warrior  sinking  on  the  red  field  of  battle; 
the  chimes  are  ringing  even  now  for  his  departure — 
listen'" 

They  stood  still  for  a  space,  while  the  measured,  swing- 
ing cadence  of  bells  came  pealing  through  the  stillness — 
bells  of  every  tone,  that  smote  the  air  with  soft  or  loud 
resonance  as  the  faint  wind  wafted  the  sounds  toward 
them;  and  then  they  began  to  climb  the  little  hill,  Sah- 
luma  walking  somewhat  in  advance,  with  a  tread  as  light 
and  elastic  as  that  of  a  young  fawn. 

Theos,  following,  watched  his  movements  with  a 
strange  affection;  every  turn  of  his  head,  every  gesture 
of  his  hand  seemed  fraught  with  meaning  as  yet  inexpli- 
cable. The  grass  beneath  their  feet  was  soft  as  velvet 
and  dotted  with  a  myriad  of  wild-flowers;  the  ascent  was 
gradual  and  easy,  and  in  a  few  minutes  they  had  reached 
the  summit,  where  Sah-luma,  throwing  himself  indolently 
on  the  smooth  turf,  pulled  Theos  gently  down  by  his 
side.  There  they  rested  in  silence,  gazing  at  the  magnifi- 
cent panorama  laid  out  before  them — a  panorama  as 
lovely  as  a  delicately  pictured  scene  of  fairy-land.  Above, 
the  sky  was  of  a  dense  yet  misty  rose-color;  the  sun, 
low  on  the  western  horizon,  appeared  to  rest  in  a  vast, 
deep  purple  hollow,  rifted  here  and  there  with  broad 
gashes  of  gold;  long  shafts  of  light  streamed  upward  in 
order  like  the  waving  pennons  of  an  angel  army  march- 
ing; and  beyond,  far  away  from  this  blaze  of  splendid 
color,  the  wide  ethereal  expanse  paled  into  tender  blue, 
whereon  light  clouds  of  pink  and  white  drifted  like  the 
fluttering  blossoms  that  fall  from  apple-trees  in  spring. 

Below,  and  seen  through  a  haze  of  rose  and  amber, 
lay  the  city  of  Al-Kyris,  its  white  domes,  towers,  and 
pinnacled  palaces  rising  out  of  the  mist  like  a  glorious 
mirage  afloat  on  the  borders  of  a  burning  desert.  Al- 
Kyris  the  Magnificent!  it  deserved  its  name,  Theos 
thought,  as,  shading  his  eyes  from  the  red  glare,  he  took 


THE   SUMMONS  OF  IKE   SIGNET  14! 

a  wondering  and  gradually  comprehensive  view  of  the 
enormous  extent  of  the  place.  He  soon  perceived  that 
it  was  defended  by  six  strongly  fortified  walls,  each  placed 
within  the  other  at  long  distances  apart,  so  that  it  might 
have  been  justly  described  as  six  cities  all  merged  to 
gether  in  one,  and  from  where  he  sat  he  could  plainly 
discern  the  great  square  where  he  had  rested  in  the 
morning,  by  reason  of  the  white  granite  obelisk  that 
lifted  itself  sheer  up  against  the  sky,  undwarfed  by  any 
of  the  surrounding  buildings. 

This  gigantic  monument  was  the  most  prominent  ob- 
ject in  sight,  with  the  exception  of  the  sacred  temple, 
which  Sah-luma  presently  pointed  out — a  round  fortress- 
like  piece  of  architecture  ornamented  with  twelve  gilded 
towers,  from  which  bells  were  now  clashing  and  jangling 
in  a  storm  of  melodious  persistency.  The  hum  of  the 
city's  traffic  and  pleasure  surged  on  the  air  like  the  noise 
made  by  swarming  bees;  while  every  now  and  then  the 
sweet,  shrill  tones  of  some  more  than  usually  clear  girl's 
voice  crying,  out  the  sale  of  fruit  or  flowers,  soared  up 
song-wise  through  the  luminous  semi-transparent  vapor 
that  half-veiled  the  clustering  house-tops,  tapering  spires, 
and  cupolas  in  a  delicate  nebulous  film. 

Completely  fascinated  by  the  wizard-like  beaut)'  of 
the  scene,  Theos  felt  as  though  he  could  never  look  upon 
it  long  enough  to  master  all  its  charms;  but  his  eyes 
ached  with  the  radiance  in  which  everything  seemed 
drenched  as  with  flame,  and  turning  his  gaze  once  more 
toward  the  sun,  he  saw  that  it  had  nearly  disappeared. 
Only  a  blood-red  rim  peered  spectrally  above  the  gold 
and  green  horizon,  and  immediately  overhead  a  silver 
rift  in  the  sky  had  widened  slowly  in  the  center  and 
narrowed  at  its  end,  thus  taking  the  shape  of  a  great  out- 
stretched sword  that  pointed  directly  downward  at  tht* 
busy,  murmuring,  glittering  city  beneath. 

It  was  a  strange  effect,  and  made  on  the  mind  of  Theos 
a  strange  impression;  he  was  about  to  call  Sah-luma's 
attention  to  it,  when  an  uncomfortable  consciousness 
that  they  were  no  longer  alone  came  over  him.  Instinc- 
tively he  turned  round,  uttered  a  hasty  exclamation,  and 
springing  erect,  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  huge 
black — a  man  of  some  six  feet  in  height  and  muscular  in 
proportion,  who,  clad  in  a  vest  and  tunic  of  the  iuost 


14.2  "ARDATH" 

vivid  scarlet  hue,  leered  confidentially  upon  him  as  their 
eyes  met.  Sah-luma,  rising  also,  but  with  less  precip- 
itation, surveyed  the  intruder  languidly  and  with  a  cer- 
tain haughtiness. 

"What  now,  Gazra?  Always  art  thou,  like  a  worm  in 
the  grass,  crawling  on  thine  errands  with  less  noise  than 
the  wind  makes  in  summer;  I  would  thy  mistress  kept 
a  fairer  messenger!" 

The  black  smiled,  if  so  hideous  a  contortion  of  his 
repulsive  countenance  might  be  called  a  smile,  and  slowly 
raising  his  jetty  arms,  hung  all  over  with  curings  of  coral 
and  amber,  made  a  curious  gesture,  half  of  salutation, half 
of  command.  As  he  did  this,  the  clear  olive  cheek  of  Sah- 
luma  flushed  darkly  red;  his  chest  heaved,  and  linkiug 
his  arm  through  that  of  Theos,  he  bent  his  head  slightly 
and  stood  like  one  in  an  enforced  attitude  of  attention. 
Then  Gazra  spoke,  his  harsh  strong,  voice  seeming  to 
come  from  some  devil  in  ths  ground  rather  than  from  a 
human  throat. 

"The  Virgin  Priestess  of  the  Sun  and  the  Divine  Nn- 
gaya  hath  need  of  thee  to-night,  Sah-luma!"  he  said,  wi  li 
a  sort  of  suppressed  derision  un^rlying  his  words,  ar  d- 
taking  from  his  breast  a  ring  that  glittered  like  a  star, 
he  held  it  out  in  the  palm  of  one  hand.  "And  also, "  he 
added,  "to  thy  friend  the  stranger,  to  whom  she  desir«s 
to  accord  a  welcome.  Behold  her  signet!" 

Theos,  impelled  by  curiosity,  would  have  taken  them 
ring  up  to  examine  it,  had  not  Sah-luma  restrained  him 
by  a  warning  pressure  of  his  arm;  he  was  only  just  ab'e 
to  see  that  it  was  in  the  shape  of  a  coiled-up  serpent 
with  ruby  eyes,  and  a  darting  tongue  tipped  with  small 
diamonds.  What  chiefly  concerned  him,  however,  w/is 
the  peculiar  change  in  Sah-luma's  demeanor;  something 
in  the  aspect  or  speech  of  Gazra  had  surely  exercised  a 
remarkable  influence  upon  him.  His  frame  trembled 
through  and  through  with  scarcely  controlled  excitement; 
his  eyes  shot  forth  an  almost  evil  fire,  and  a  coJd,  calm, 
somewhat  cruel  smile  played  on  the  perfect  outline  of 
his  delicate  mouth.  Taking  the  signet  from  Gazra's 
palm,  he  kissed  it  with  a  kind  of  angry  tenderness,  the 
replied: 

"Tell  thy  mistress  we  shall  obey  her  behest !  Doubtless 
she  knows,  as  she  knows  all  things,  that  to-night  i  am 


THE   SUMMONS  OF  THE   SIGNET  143 

summoned  by  express  command  to  the  palace  of  our  sov- 
ereign lord  the  king;  I  am  bound  thither  first,  as  is  my 
duty,  but  afterward — "  He  broke  off  as  if  he  found  it 
impossible  to  say  more,  and  waved  his  hand  in  a  light 
sign  of  dismissal.  But  Gazra  did  not  at  once  depart. 
He  again  smiled  that  lowering  smile  of  his  which  re- 
sembled nothing  so  much  as  a  hung  criminal's  death- 
grin,  and  returned  the  jeweled  signet  to  his  breast. 

"Afterward — yes — afterward!"  he  said  in  emphatic  yet 
mock  solemn  tones.  "Even  so!"  Advancing  a  little,  he 
laid  his  heavy,  muscular  hand  on  Theos'  chest  and  ap- 
peared mentally  to  measure  his  height  and  breadth. 
"Strong  nerves,  iron  sinews,  goodly  flesh  and  blood! 
'twill  serve!"  and  his  great  protruding  eyes  gleamed 
maliciously  as  he  spoke,  then  bowing  profoundly  he 
aided,  addressing  both  Sah-luma  and  Theos:  "Noble 
sirs,  to-night  out  of  all  men  in  Al-Kyris  shall  you  be  the 
most  envied.  Farewell!"  and  once  more  making  that 
curious  salutation  which  had  in  it  so  much  imperiousness 
and  so  little  obeisance,  he  walked  backward  a  few  paces 
in  the  full  luster  of  the  set  sun's  after  glow,  which  inten- 
sified the  vivid  red  of  his  costume  and  lit  up  all  the 
ornaments  of  clear  cut  amber  that  glittered  against  his 
swarthy  skin,  then  turning,  he  descended  the  hillock  so 
swiftly  that  he  seemed  to  have  melted  out  of  sight  as  ut- 
terly as  a  dark  mist  dissolving  in  air. 

"By  my  word,  a  most  sooty  and  repellant  bearer  of  a 
lady's  greeting!"  laughed  Theos  lightly,  as  he  sauntered 
atm-in-arm  with  his  host  on  the  downward  path  leading 
to  the  garden  and  palace;  "and  I  have  yet  to  learn  the 
true  meaning  of  his  message." 

"'Tis  plain  enough,"  replied  Sah-luma  somewhat  sulkily, 
with  the  deep  flush  still  coming  and  going  on  his  face 
"It  means  that  we  are  summoned — thou  as  well  as  I — 
to  one  of  Lysia's  midnight  banquets;  an  honor  that  falls 
to  few — a  mandate  none  dare  disobey.  She  must  have 
spied  thee  out  this  morning — the  only  unkneeling  soul 
in  all  tb.2  abject  multitude;  hence,  perhaps,  her  present 
desire  for  thy  company." 

There  was  a  touch  of  vexation  in  his  voice,  but  Theos 
hseded  it  not.  His  heart  gave  a  great  bound  against 
his  rius  as  though  pricked  by  a  fire-tipped  arrow; 
something  swift  and  ardent  stirred  in  his  blood  like  the 


144  "ARDATH" 

flowing  of  quicksilver;  the  picture  of  the  dusky-eyed, 
witchingly  beautiful  woman  he  had  seen  that  morning 
in  her  gold-adorned  ship  seemed  to  float  between  him 
and  the  light;  her  face  shone  out  like  a  growing  glory- 
flower  in  the  tangled  wilderness  of  his  thoughts,  and 
his  lips  trembled  a  little  as  he  replied: 

"She  must  be  gracious  and  forgiving,  then,  even  as 
she  is  fair!  For,  in  my  neglect  of  reverence  due,  I  mer- 
ited her  scorn — not  her  courtesy.  But  tell  me,  Sah- 
iuma,  how  could  she  know  I  was  a  guest  of  thine?" 

Sah-luma  glanced  at  him  half-pityinglv,  half-disdain- 
fully. 

"How  could  she  know?  Easily!  inasmuch  as  she  knows 
all  things.  'T would  have  been  strange  indeed  had  she 
not  known,"  and  he  caught  at  a  down-drooping  rose  and 
crushed  its  fragrant  head  in  his  hand  with  a  sort  of 
wanton  petulance.  "The  king  himself  is  less  acquainted 
with  his  people's  doings  than  the  wearer  of  the  all-reflect- 
ing eye!  Thou  hast  not  yet  seen  that  weird  mirror  and 
potent  dazzler  of  human  sight;  no,  but  thou  wilt  see  it  ere 
long — the  glittering  fiend-guardian  of  the  whitest  breast 
that  ever  shut  in  passion"."  His  voice  shook,  and  he 
paused  ;  then  with  some  effort  continued :  "Yes,  Lysia 
has  her  secret  commissioners  everywhere  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  city,  who  report  to  her  each 
circumstance  that  happens — no  matter  how  trifling — and 
doubtless  we  were  followed  home,  tracked  step  by  step 
as  we  walked  together,  by  one  of  her  stealthy-footed 
servitors;  in  this  there  would  be  naught  unusual." 

"Then  there  is  no  freedom  in  Al  Kyris, "  said  Theos 
wonderingly,  "if  the  whole  city  thus  lies  under  the  cir- 
cumspection of  a  woman?" 

Sah-luma  laughed  rather  harshly. 

"Freedom !  By  the  gods  !  'tis  a  delusive  word  embody- 
ing a  vain  idea.  Where  is  there  any  freedom  in  life? 
All  of  us  are  bound  by  chains  and  restricted  in  one  way 
or  the  other;  the  man  who  deems  himself  politically  free 
is  a  slave  to  the  multitude  and  his  own  ambition;  while 
he  who  shakes  himself  loose  from  the  trammels  of  cus 
torn  and  creed  becomes  the  tortured  bondsman  of  desire, 
tied  fast  with  bruising  cords  to  the  rack  of  his  own 
unbridled  sense  and  appetite.  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
freedom,  rr  y  friend,  unless  haply  it  may  be  found  in 


SAH-LUMA   SINGS  145 

death.  Come,  let  us  in  to  supper;  the  hour  grows  late, 
and  my  heart  aches  with  an  unsought  heaviness.  I  must 
cheer  me  with  a  cup  of  wine,  or  my  songs  to-night  will 
sadden  rather  than  rouse  the  king.  Come,  and  thou 
shalt  speak  to  me  again  of  the  life  that  is  to  be  lived 
hereafter,"  and  he  smiled  with  a  certain  pathos  in  his 
smile;  "for  there  are  times,  believe  me,  when,  in  spite 
of  all  my  fame  and  the  sweetness  of  existence,  I  weary 
of  earth's  days  and  nights,  and  find  them  far  too  brief 
and  mean  to  satisfy  my  longings.  Not  the  world,  but 
worlds,  should  be  the  poet's  heritage. 

Theos  looked  at  him  with  a  feeling  of  unutterable 
yearning,  affection,  and  regret,  but  said  nothing;  and 
together  they  ascended  the  steps  of  the  stately  marble 
terrace  and  paced  slowly  across  it,  keeping  as  near  to 
each  other  as  shadow  to  substance,  and  thus  re-entered 
the  palace,  where  the  sound  of  a  distant  harp  alone  pen- 
etrated the  perfumed  stillness.  It  must  be  Niphrata 
who  was  playing,  thought  Theos,  and  what  strange  and 
plaintive  chords  she  swept  from  the  vibrating  strings! 
They  seemed  laden  with  the  tears  of  broken-hearted 
women  dead  and  buried  ages  upon  ages  ago! 


CHAPTER  V. 

SAH-LUMA   SINGS. 

As  they  left  the  garden  the  night  fell,  or  appeared  to 
fall,  with  almost  startling  suddenness,  and  at  the  same 
time,  in  swift  defiance  of  the  darkness,  Sah-luma's  palace 
was  illuminated  from  end  to  end  by  thousands  of  colored 
lamps,  all  apparently  lit  at  once  by  a  single  flash  of  elec- 
tricity. A  magnificent  repast  was  spread  for  the  laureate 
and  his  guest,  in  a  lofty,  richly  frescoed  banqueting-hall; 
a  repast  voluptuous  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  ardent 
votary  that  ever  followed  the  doctrines  of  Epicurus. 
Wonderful  dainties  and  still  more  wonderful  wines  were 
served  in  princely  profusion,  and  while  the  strangely 
met  and  sympathetically  united  friends  ate  and  irank. 


146  "AROATH" 

< 

delicious  music  was  played  on  stringed  instruments  by 
unseen  performers.  When,  at  intervals,  these  pleasing 
sounds  ceased,  Sah-luma's  conversation,  brilliant,  witty, 
refined,  and  sparkling  with  light  anecdote  and  lighter 
jest,  replaced  with  admirable  sufficiency  the  lett  off 
harmonies,  and  Theos,  keenly  alive  to  the  sensuous  lux- 
ury of  his  own  emotions,  felt  that  he  had  never  before 
enjoyed  such  an  astonishing,  delightful,  and  altogether 
fairy-like  feast.  Its  only  fault  was  that  it  came  to 
an  end  too  soon,  he  thought,  when,  the  last  course  of 
fruit  and  sweet  comfits  being  removed,  he  rose  reluc- 
tantly from  the  glittering  board,  andprepared  to  accom- 
pany his  host,  as  agreed,  to  the  presence  of  the 
sing. 

In  a  very  short  time — so  bewilderingly  short  as  to 
seem  a  mere  breathing-space — he  found  himself  passing 
through  the  broad  avenues  and  crowded  thoroughfares  of 
Al-Kyris  on  his  way  to  the  royal  abode  He  occupied 
a  place  in  Sah  luma's  chariot,  a  gilded  car  shaped  some- 
what like  the  curved  half  of  a  shell,  deeply  hollowed, and 
set  on  two  high  wheels  that  as,  they  rolled,  made  scarcely 
any  sound.  There  was  no  seat,  and  both  he  and  Sah- 
luma  stood  erect,  the  latter  using  all  the  force  of  his 
slender  brown  hands  to  control  the  spirited  prancing  of 
the  pair  of  jet-black  steeds  which,  harnessed  tandem- 
wise  to  the  light  vehicle,  seemed  more  than  once  disposed 
to  break  loose  into  furious  gallop,  regardless  of  their 
master's  curbing  rein. 

The  full  moon  was  rising  gradually  in  a  sky  as  densely 
violet  as  purple  pansy-leaves,  but  her  mellow  luster  was 
almost  put  to  shame  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  streets, 
which  were  lit  up  on  both  sides  by  vari-colored  lamps 
that  diffused  a  peculiar  intense  yet  soft  radiance,  pro- 
duced, as  Sah-luma  explained,  from  stored-up  electricity. 
On  the  twelve  tall  towers  of  the  sacred  temple  shone 
twelve  large  revolving  stars,  that  as  they  turned  emitted 
vivid  flashes  of  blue,  green,  and  amber  flame  like  light- 
house signals  seen  from  ships  veering  shoreward ;  and 
the  reflections  thus  cast  on  the  mosaic  pavement,  ming- 
ling with  the  paler  beams  of  the  moon,  gave  a  weird  and 
most  fantastic  effect  to  the  scene.  Straight  ahead,  a  blaz- 
ing arch  raised  like  a  bent  bow  against  heaven  and  hav- 
ing in  its  center  the  word 


SAH-LUMA   SINGS  147 

ZEPHORANIM 

written  in  scintillating  letters  of  fire,  indicated  to  all 
beholders  the  name  and  abode  of  the  powerful  monarch 
under  whose  dominion,  according  to  Sah-luma,  Al-Kyris 
had  reached  its  present  height  of  wealth  and  prosperity. 
Theos  looked  everywhere  about  him,  seeing  yet  scarcely 
realizing  the  wonders  on  which  he  gazed  ;  leaning  one 
arm  on  the  burnished  edge  of  the  car,  he  glanced  now 
and  then  up  at  the  dusky  skies  growing  thick  with  swarm- 
ing worlds,  and  meditated  dreamily  whether  it  might 
not  be  within  the  range  of  possibility  to  be  lifted  with 
Sah-luma,  chariot,  steeds  and  all,  into  that  beautiful 
fathomless  empyrean,  and  drive  among  planets  as 
though  they  were  flowers,  reining  in  at  last  before  some 
great  golden  gate,  which,  unbarred,  should  open  into  a 
lustrous  glory-land  fairer  than  all  fair  regions  ever  pic- 
tured! 

How  like  a  god  Sah-luma  looked!  he  mused,  his  eyes 
resting  tenderly  on  the  light,  glittering  form  he  was  never 
weary  of  contemplating.  Could  there  be  a  more  perfect 
head  than  that  dark  one  crowned  with  myrtle?  could 
there  be  a  more  dazzling  existence  than  that  enjoyed 
by  this  child  of  happy  fortune — this  royal  laureate  of  a 
mighty  king?  How  many  poets  starving  in  garrets  and 
waiting  for  a  hearing  would  not  curse  their  unlucky  des- 
tinies when  comparing  themselvse  with  such  a  prince  of 
poesy,  each  word  of  whose  utterance  was  treasured  and 
enshrined  in  the  hearts  of  a  grateful  and  admiring  peo- 
ple! 

This  was  fame  indeed — fame  at  its  utmost  best,  and 
Theos  sighed  once  or  twice  restlessly,  as  he  inwardly  re- 
flected how  poor  and  unsatisfying  were  his  own  poetical 
powers  and  how  totally  unfitted  he  was  to  cope  with  a 
rival  so  vastly  his  superior.  Not  that  he  by  any  means 
desired  to  cross  swords  with  Sah-luma  in  a  duel  of  song 
— that  was  an  idea  that  never  entered  his  mind;  he  was 
simply  conscious  of  a  certain  humiliated  feeling,  an  im- 
pression that  if  he  would  be  a  poet  at  all,  he  must  go 
back  to  the  very  first  beginning  of  the  art  and  re-learn 
all  he  had  ever  known,  or  thought  he  knew. 

Many  strange  and  complex  emotions  were  at  work 
within  him — emotions  which  he  could  neither  control  nor 


148  "ARDATH" 

analyze;  and  though  he  felt  himself  fully  alive — alive 
to  his  very  finger-tips — he  was  ever  and  anon  aware  of 
a  curious  sensation  like  that  experienced  by  a  suddenly 
startled  somnambulist,  who,  just  on  the  point  of  awak- 
ing, hesitates  reluctantly  on  the  threshold  of  dreamland, 
unwilling  to  leave  one  realm  of  shadows  for  another 
more  seeming-true  yet  equally  transient.  Entangled  in 
perplexed  reveries,  he  scarcely  noticed  the  brilliant 
crowds  of  people  that  were  flocking  hither  and  thither 
through  the  streets,  many  of  whom,  recognizing  Sah- 
luma  waved  their  hands  or  shouted  some  gay  word  of 
greeting — he  saw,  as  it  were,  without  seeing.  The  whirl- 
ing pageant  around  him  was  both  real  and  unreal ;  there 
was  always  a  deep  sense  of  mystery  that  hung  like  a 
cloud  over  his  mind — a  cloud  that  no  resolution  of  his 
could  lift — and  often  he  caught  himself  dimly  speculat- 
ing as  to  what  lay  behind  that  cloud.  Something,  he 
felt  sure — something  that,  like  the  clew  to  an  intricate 
problem,  would  explain  much  that  was  now  altogether 
incomprehensible ;  moreover,  he  remorsefully  realized 
that  he  had  formerly  known  that  clew  and  had  foolishly 
lost  it,  but  how  he  could  not  tell. 

His  gaze  wandered  from  the  figure  of  Sah-luma  to  that 
of  the  attendant  harp-bearer  who,  perched  on  a  narrow 
foothold  at  the  back  of  the  chariot,  held  his  master's 
golden  instrument  aloft  as  though  it  were  a  flag  of  soog, 
the  signal  of  a  poet's  triumph,  destined  to  float  above  the 
world  forever! 

Just  then  the  equipage  arrived  at  the  king's  palace. 
Turning  the  horses'  heads  with  a  sharp  jerk,  so  that 
the  mettlesome  creatures  almost  sprang  erect  on  their 
haunches,  Sah-luma  drove  them  swiftly  into  a  spacious 
courtyard,  lined  with  soldiers  in  full  armor  and  brilliantly 
illuminated,  where  two  gigantic  stone  sphinxes,  with  lit 
stars  ablaze  between  their  enormous  brows,  guarded  a 
flight  of  steps  that  led  up  to  what  seemed  to  be  an  end- 
less avenue  of  white  marble  columns.  Here  slaves  in 
gorgeous  attire  rushed  forward,  and  seizing  the  prancing 
coursers  by  the  bridle  rein,  held  them  fast  while  the 
laureate  and  his  companion  alighted.  As  they  did  so,  a 
mighty  and  resounding  clash  of  weapons  struck  the  tes- 
selated  pavement;  every  soldier  flung  his  drawn  sword  on 
the  ground  and  doffed  his  helmet,  and  the  cry  of 


SAH-LUMA 

HAIL,   SAH-LUMA!" 

rose  in  one  brief,  mellow,  manly  shout  that  echoed  vibrat- 
ingly  through  the  heated  air.  Sah-luma  meanwhile 
ascended  half  way  up  the  steps,  and  there  turning  round, 
smiled  and  bowed  with  an  exquisite  grace  and  infinite 
condescension,  and  again  Theos  gazed  at  him  yearningly, 
lovingly,  and  somewhat  enviously  too.  What  a  picture 
he  made,  standing  between  the  great, frowning  sculptured 
sphinxes!  Contrasted  with  those  cold  and  solemn  vis- 
ages of  stone,  he  looked  like  a  dazzling  butterfly  or  stray 
bird  of  paradise.  His  white  garb  glistened  at  every  point 
with  gems,  and  from  his  shoulders,  where  it  was  fastened 
with  large  sapphire  clasps,  depended  a  long  mantle  of 
cloth  of  gold,  bordered  thickly  with  swansdown.  This 
he  held  up  negligently  in  one  hand  as  he  remained  for 
a  moment  in  full  view  of  the  assembled  soldiery,  gra- 
ciously acknowledging  their  enthusiastic  greetings;  then 
with  easy  and  unhasting  tread  he  mounted  the  rest  of" 
the  stairway,  followed  by  Theos  and  his  harp-bearer,  and 
passed  into  the  immense  outer  entrance-hall  of  the  royal 
palace,  known,  as  he  explained  to  his  guest,  as  the  Hall 
of  the  Two  Thousand  Columns. 

Here,  among  the  massively  carved  pillars,  which  looked 
like  straight,  tall,  frosted  trunks  of  trees,  were  assembled 
hundreds  of  men,  young  and  old,  evident  aristocrats  and 
nobles  of  high  degree,  to  judge  from  the  magnificence 
of  their  costumes;  while  in  and  out  their  brilliant  ranks 
glided  little  pages  in  crimson  and  blue;  black  slaves 
semi  nude  or  clothed  in  vivid  colors;  court  officials  with 
jeweled  badges  and  insignias  of  authority ;  military 
guards  clad  in  steel  armor  and  carrying  short  drawn 
scimiters — all  talking,  laughing,  gesticulating  and  el- 
bowing one  another  as  they  moved  to  and  fro,  and  so 
thickly  were  they  pressed  together  that  at  first  sight  it 
seemed  impossible  to  penetrate  through  so  dense  a 
crowd  ;  but  no  sooner  did  Sah-luma  appear,  than  they 
all  fell  back  in  orderly  rows,  thus  making  an  open, avenue- 
like  space  for  his  admittance. 

He  walked  slowly,  with  proudly-assured  mien  and  a 
confident  smile,  bowing  right  and  left  in  response  to  the 
respectful  salutations  he  received  from  all  assembled. 
Many  persons  glanced  inquisitively  at  Theos,  but  as  he 


I5O  "ARDATH?' 

was  the  laureate's  companion  he  was  saluted  with  nearly 
equal  courtesy.  The  old  critic  Zabastes,  squeezing  his 
lean,  bent  body  from  out  the  throng,  hobbled  after  Sah 
luma,  at  some  little  distance  behind  the  harp-bearer, 
muttering  to  himself  as  he  went,  and  bestowing  many 
a  side-leer  and  malicious  grin  on  those  among  his  ac- 
quaintance  whom  he  here  and  there  recognized.  Theos 
noted  his  behavior  with  a  vague  sense  of  amusement; 
the  man  took  such  evident  delight  in  his  own  ill  humcr. 
and  seemed  to  be  so  thoroughly  convinced  that  his  opin- 
ion on  all  affairs  was  the  only  one  \\orth  having 

"Thou  must  check  thy  tongue  to  day,  Zabastes!"  said 
a  handsome  youth  in  dazzling  blue  afid  silver  who,  just 
then  detaching  himself  from  the  crowd,  laid  a  hand  on 
the  critic's  arm  and  laughed  as  he  spoke.  "I  doubt  me 
much  whether  the  king  is  in  humor  for  thy  grim  fooling! 
His  majesty  hath  been  seriously  discomposed  since  his 
return  from  the  royal  tiger-hunt  this  morning,  notwith- 
standing that  his  unerring  spear  slew  two  goodly  and 
most  furious  animals.  He  is  wondrous  sullen,  and  only 
the  divine  Sah-luma  is  skilled  in  the  art  of  soothing  his 
troubled  spirit.  Therefore,  if  thou  hast  aught  of  crab' 
bed  or  cantankerous  to  urge  against  thy  master's  genius, 
thou  hadst  best  reserve  it  for  another  time,  lest  thy 
withered  head  roll  on  the  market-place  with  as  little  rev- 
erence as  a  dried  gourd  «flung  from  a  fruiterer's  stall!" 

"I  thank  thee  for  thy  warning,  young  jackanapes!"  re- 
torted Zabastes,  pausing  in  his  walk  and  leaning  on  his 
staff  while  he  peered  with  this  small, black, bad-tempered 
eyes  at  the  speaker.  "Thou  art,  methinks,  somewhat 
over  well-informed  for  a  little  lackey!  What  knowest 
thou  of  his  majesty's  humors?  Hast  been  his  fly-i'-the- 
ear  or  cast-off  sandal-string?  I  pray  thee  extend  not  thy 
range  of  learning  beyond  the  proper  temperature  of  the 
bath,  and  the  choice  of  rare  unguents  for  thy  skin — 
greater  knowledge  than  this  would  injure  the  tender  tex- 
ture of  thy  fragile  brain!  Pah!"  and  Zabastes  sniffed 
the  air  in  disgust.  "Thou  hast  a  most  vile  odor  of  jes- 
samine about  thee  !  I  would  thou  wert  clean  of  perfumes 
and  less  tawdry  in  attire!" 

Chuckling  hoarsely  he  ambled  onward,  and  chancing 
to  catch  the  wondering  backward  glance  of  Theos,  he 
made  expressive  signs  with  his  finger  in  derision  of  Sah- 


SAH-LUMA   SINGS  151 

luma's  sweeping  mantle,  which  now,  allowed  to  fall  to 
its  full  length,  trailed  along  the  marble  floor  with  a 
rich,  rustling  sound,  the  varied  light  sparkling  on  it  at 
every  point  and  making  it  look  like  a  veritable  shower  of 
gold 

On  through  the  seemingly  endless  colonnades  they 
passed,  till  they  came  to  a  huge  double  door  formed  of 
two  glittering,  colossal,  winged  figures  holding  enormous 
uplifted  shields.  Here  stood  a  personage  clad  in  a  silver 
coat-of-mail,  so  motionless  that  at  first  he  appeared  to 
be  part  of  the  door,  but  at  the  approach  of  Sah-luma  he 
stirred  into  life  and  action-,  and  touching  a  spring  beside 
him,  the  arms  of  the  twin  colossi  moved,  the  great 
double  shields  were  slowly  lowered,  and  the  portals  slid 
asunder  noiselessly,  thus  displaying  the  sumptuous 
splendor  of  the  royal  presence  chamber. 

This  was  a  spacious  and  lofty  saloon,  completely  lined 
with  gilded  columns,  between  which  hung  numerous 
golden  lamps,  having  long  pointed  amber  pendants  that 
flashed  down  a  million  sparkles  as  of  sunlight  on  the 
magnificent  mosaic  floor  beneath.  On  the  walls  were 
rich  tapestries  storied  with  voluptuous  scenes  of  love  as 
well  as  ghastly  glimpses  of  warfare,  and  languishing 
beauties  reposing  in  the  arms  of  their  lovers,  or  listening 
to  the  songs  of  passion,  were  depicted  side  by  side  with 
warriors  dead  on  the  field  of  battle,  or  struggling  hand 
to  hand  in  grim  and  bleeding  conflict.  The  corners  of 
this  wonderful  apartment  were  decked  with  all  sorts  of 
flags  and  weapons,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  painted 
ceiling  was  suspended  a  huge  bird  with  the  spread  wings 
of  an  eagls  and  the  head  of  an  owl  that  held  in  its  curved 
talons  a  superb  girandole  formed  of  a  hundred  extended 
swords,  each  bare  blade  having  at  its  point  a  bright 
lamp  in  the  shape  of  a  star,  while  the  clustered  hilts 
composed  the  center. 

Officers  in  full  uniform  were  ranged  on  both  sides  of 
the  room,  and  a  number  of  other  men  richly  attired,  stood, 
about,  conversing  with  each  other  in  low  tones,  but 
though  Theos  took  in  all  these  details  rapidly  at  a 
glance,  his  gaze  soon  became  fixed  on  the  glittering  pa- 
vilion that  occupied  the  furthest  end  of  the  saloon, 
\vh?re,  on  a  massive  throne  of  ivory  and  silver,  sat  the 
chief  object  of  attraction — Zephoranim  the  king.  The 


13*  "ARDATH** 

steps  of  the  royal  dai's  were  strewn  ankle-deep  with  flow- 
ers, on  either  hand  a  bronze  lion  lay  couchant,  and  four 
gigantic  black  statues  of  men  supported  the  monarch's 
gold-fringed  canopy,  their  uplifted  arms  being  decked 
with  innumerable  rows  of  large  and  small  pearls.  Tl:e 
king's  features  were  not  just  then  visible — he  was  lean- 
ing back  in  an  indolent  attitude,  resting  on  his  elbow, 
and  half  covering  his  face  with  one  hand.  The  individ- 
ual in  the  silver  coat-of  mail  whispered  something  in 
Sah  luma's  ear,  either  byway  of  warning  or  advice,  and 
then  advanced,  prostrating  himself  before  the  dai's  and 
touching  the  ground  humbly  with  his  forehead  and  hands. 
The  king  stirred  slightly,  but  did  not  alter  his  position  ; 
he  was  evidently  wrapped  in  a  deep  and  seemingly  un- 
pleasant revery, 

"Dread  my  lord — "  began  the  herald  in-waiting.  A 
movement  of  decided  impatience  on  the  part  of  the  mon- 
arch caused  him  to  stop  short. 

"By  my  soul!"  said  a  rich,  strong  voice  that  made 
itself  distinctly  audible  throughout  the  spacious  hall. 
"Thou  art  ever  shivering  on  the  edge  of  thy  duty  when 
thou  shouldst  plunge  boldly  into  the  midst  thereof!  How 
long  wilt  mouth  th)7  words?  Canst  never  speak  plain?" 

"Most  potent  sovereign!"  went  on  the  stammering 
herald,  "Sah-luma  waits  thy  royal  pleasure!" 

"Sah-luma!"  and  the  monarch  sprang  erect,  his  eyes 
flashing  fire.  "Nay,  that  he  should  wait  bodes  ill  for 
thee,  thou  knave!  How  dar'st  thou  bid  him  wait?  En- 
treat him  hither  with  all  gentleness,  as  befits  mine  equal 
in  the  realm!'1 

As  he  thus  spoke,  Theos  was  able  to  observe  him 
more  attentively.  Indeed,  it  seemed  as  the  ugh  a  sud- 
den and  impressive  pause  had  occurred  in  the  action  of 
a  drama,  in  order  to  allow  him  as  spectator  to  thoroughly 
master  the  meaning  of  one  special  scene.  Therefore  he 
took  the  opportunity  offered,  and  looking  full  at  Zeph- 
oranira,  thought  he  had  never  beheld  so  magnificent  a 
man.  Of  stately  height  and  herculean  build,  he  was 
most  truly  royal  in  outward  bearing,  though  a  physiog- 
nomist, judging  him  from  the  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance, would  at  once  have  given  him  all  the  worst  vices 
of  a  reckless  voluptuary  and  utterly  selfish  sensualist. 
His  straight,  low  brows  indicated  brute  force  rather 


SAH-LUMA  SINGS  153 

tkan  intellect;  his  eyes,  full,  dark  and  brilliant,  had  in 
them  a  suggestion  of  something  sinister  and  cruel,  de- 
spite their  fine  clearness  and  luster,  while  the  heavy  lines 
of  his  mouth,  only  partly  concealed  by  a  short,  thick- 
black  beard,  plainly  betokened  that  the  monarch's  ten- 
dencies were  by  no  means  toward  the  strict  and  narrow 
paths  of  virtue. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  a  splendid  specimen  of  the  human 
animal  at  its  best  physical  development,  and  his  attire, 
which  was  a  mixture  of  the  civilized  and  savage,  suited 
him  as  it  certainly  would  not  have  suited  any  less  stal- 
wart frame.  His  tunic  was  of  the  deepest  purple  broid- 
ered  with  gold  ;  his  vest,  of  pale  amber  silk,  was  thrown 
open  so  as  to  display  to  the  greatest  advantage  his  broad 
muscular  chest  and  throat  glittering  all  over  with  gems, 
and  he  wore,  flung  loosely  across  his  left  shoulder,  a 
superb  leopard  skin,  just  kept  in  place  by  a  clasp  of  dia- 
monds. His  feet  were  shod  with  gold  colored  sandals, 
his  arms  were  bare  and  lavishly  decked  with  jeweled 
armlets,  his  rough, dark  hair  was  tossed  carelessly  above 
his  brow,  whereon  a  circlet  of  gold  studded  with  large 
rubies  glittered  in  the  light.  From  his  belt  hung  a  great 
sheathed  sword,  together  with  all  manner  of  hunting  im- 
plements, and  beside  him,  on  a  velvet-covered  stand, 
Ly  a  short  scepter,having  at  its  tip  one  huge, egg-shaped 
pearl,  set  in  sapphires. 

Noting  the  grand  poise  of  his  figure,  and  the  statuesque 
g</ace  of  his  attitude,  a  strange,  hazy,  far-off  memory 
began  to  urge  itself  on  Theos'  mind,  a  memory  that 
with  every  second  grew  more  painfully  distinct :  He  had 
seen  Zephoranim  before!  Where,  he  could  not  tell,  but 
he  was  as  positive  of  it  as  that  he  himself  lived,  and  this 
inward  conviction  was  accompanied  by  a  certain  unde- 
finable  dread — a  vague  terror  and  foreboding,  though  he 
knew  no  actual  cause  for  fear. 

He  had,  however,  no  time  to  analyze  his  emotion,  for 
just  then  the  herald-in-waiting,  having  performed  a 
backward  evolution  from  the  throne  to  the  threshold  of 
the  audience-chamber,  beckoned  impatiently  to  Sah- 
luma,  who  at  once  stepped  forward,  bidding  Theos  keep 
close  behind  him.  The  harp-bearer  followed,  and  thus 
all  three  approached  the  dais  where  the  king  still  stood 
erect,  awaiting  them,  Zabastes  the  critic  glided  in  also, 


154  "ARDATH" 

almost  unnoticed,  and  joined  a  group  of  courtiers  at  the 
furthest  end  of  the  long,  gorgeously  lighted  room,  while 
at  sight  of  the  laureate  the  assembled  officers  saluted, 
arid  all  conversation  ceased.  At  the  foot  of  the  throne 
Sah-luma  paused,  but  made  no  obeisance.  Raising  his 
glorious  eyes  to  the  monarch's  face  he  smiled,  and 
Theos  beheld  with  amazement  that  here  it  was  not  the 
poet  who  reverenced  the  king,  but  the  king  who  rever- 
enced the  poet! 

What  a  strange  state  of  things!  he  thought.  Espe- 
cially when  the  mighty  Zephoranim  actually  descended 
three  steps  of  his  flower-strewn  dais,  and  grasping  Sah- 
luma's  hands,  raised  them  to  his  lips  with  all  the 
humility  of.  a  splendid  savage  paying  homage  to  his  intel- 
lectual conqueror!  It  was  a  scene  Theos  was  destined 
never  to  forget,  and  he  gazed  upon  it  as  one  gazes  on  a 
magnificently  painted  picture,  wherein  two  central  figures 
fascinate  and  most  profoundly  impress  the  beholder's 
imagination.  He  heard  with  a  vague  sense  of  mingled 
pleasure  and  sadness  the  deep  mellow  tones  of  the  mon- 
arch's voice  vibrating  through  the  silence: 

"Welcome,  my  Sah-luma!  Welcome  at  all  times,  but 
chiefly  welcome  when  the  heart  is  weighted  by  care!  I 
have  thought  of  thee  all  day,  believe  me!  ay,  since 
early  dawn,  when  on  my  way  to  the  chase,  I  heard  in 
the  depths  of  the  forest  a  happy  nightingale  sing'ng. 
and  deemed  thy  voice  had  taken  bird-shape  and  followed 
me!  And  that  I  sent  for  thee  in  haste,  blame  me  not;  as 
well  blame  the  desert  athirst  for  rain,  or  the  hungry 
heart  agape  for  love  to  come  and  fill  it!"  Here  his  rest- 
less eye  flashed  on  Theos,  who  stood  quietly  behind  Sah- 
luma,  passive,  yet  expectant  of  he  knew  not  what. 

"Whom  hast  thou  there?  A  friend?"  This  as  Sah- 
luma  apparently  explained  something  in  a  low  tone. 

"He  is  welcome  also  for  thy  sake" — and  he  extended 
one  hand,  on  which  a  great  ruby  signet  burned  like  a 
red  star,  to  Theos,  who,  bending  over  it,  kissed  it  with 
the  grave  courtesy  he  fancied  due  to  kings.  Zephoranim 
appeared  good-naturedly  surprised  at  this  action,  and 
eyed  him  somewhat  scrutinizingly  as  he  said:  "Thou 
art  not  of  Sah-luma's  divine  calling  assuredly,  fair  sir, 
else  thou  wouldst  hardly  stoop  to  a  mere  crowned  head 
like  mine!  Soldiers  and  statesmen  may  bend  the  knee 


SAH-LUMN   SINGS  155 

to  their  chosen  rulers,but  to  whom  shall  poets  bend?  They 
who  with  arrowy  lines  cause  thrones  to  totter  and  fall; 
they  who  with  deathless  utterance  brand  with  infamy 
or  hallow  with  honor  the  most  potent  names  of  kings 
and  emperors;  they  by  whom  alone  a  nation  lives  in  the 
annals  of  the  future — what  homage  do  such  elect  gods 
owe  to  the  passing  holders  of  one  or  more  earthly  scep- 
ters? Thou  art  too  humble,  methinks,  for  the  minstrel- 
vocation.  Dost  call  thyself  a  minstrel  or  a  student  of 
the  art  of  song?" 

Theos  looked  up,  his  eyes  resting  full  on  the  monarch's 
countenance,  as  he  replied  in  low,  clear  tones: 

"Most  noble  Zephoranim,  I  am  no  minstrel,  nor  do  I 
deserve  to  be  called  even  a  student  of  that  high,  sweet 
music-wisdom  in  which  Sah-luma  alone  excels!  All  T 
dare  hope  for  is  that  I  may  learn  of  him  in  some  small 
degree  the  lessons  he  has  mastered,  that  at  some  future 
time  I  may  approach  as  nearly  to  his  genius  as  a  com- 
mon flower  on  earth  can  approach  to  a  fixed  star  in  the 
furthest  blue  of  heaven!" 

Sah  luma  smiled  and  gave  him  a  pleased,  appreciative 
glance.  Zephoranim  regarded  him  somewhat  curiously. 

"By  my  faith,  thou'rt  a  modest  and  gentle  disciple  of 
poesy!"  he  said.  "We  receive  thee  gladly  to  our  court 
as  suits  Sah-luma's  pleasure  and  our  own!  Stand  thee 
near  thy  friend  and  master,  and  listen  to  the  melody  of 
his  matchless  voice.  Thou  shalt  hear  therein  the  mys- 
teries of  many  things  unraveled,  and  chiefly  the  mystery 
of  love,  in  which  all  other  passions  center  and  have 
power. " 

Re-ascending  the  steps  of  the  dais,  he  flung  himself 
indolently  back  in  his  throne,  whereupon  two  pages 
brought  a  magnificent  chair  of  inlaid  ivory  and  placed 
it  near  the  foot  of  the  dais  at  his  right  hand.  In  this 
Sah-luma  seated  himself,  the  pages  arranging  his  golden 
mantle  round  him  in  shining,  picturesque  folds,  while 
Theos,  withdrawing  slightly  into  the  background,  stood 
leaning  against  a  piece  of  tapestry  on  which  the  dead 
figure  of  a  man  was  depicted  lying  prone  on  the  sward 
with  a  great  wound  in  his  heart,  and  a  bird  of  prey  hov- 
ering above  him  expectant  of  its  grim  repast.  Kneeling 
on  one  knee  close  to  Sah  luma,  the  harp-bearer  put  the 
harp  in  tyne,  and  swept  his  fingers  lightly  over  the 


156  "ARDATH" 

strings — then  came  a  pause.  A  clear,  small  bell  chimed 
sweetly  on  the  stillness,  and  the  king,  raising  himself  a 
little,  signed  to  a  black  slave  who  carried  a  tall  silver 
wand  emblematic  of  some  office. 

'Let  the  women  enter,"  he  commanded.  "Speak  but 
Sah-luma's  name  and  they  will  gather  like  waves  rising 
to  the  moon,  but  bid  them  be  silent  as  they  come,  lest 
they  disturb  thoughts  more  lasting  than  their  loveliness/' 

This  with  a  significant  glance  toward  the  laureate, 
who,  sunk  in  his  ivory  chair,  seemed  rapt  in  meditation. 
His  beautiful  face  had  grown  grave,  even  sad.  He  played 
idly  with  the  ornaments  at  his  belt,  and  his  eyes  had  a 
drowsy  yet  odd  light  within  them,  as  they  flashed  now 
and  then  from  under  the  shade  of  his  long  curling  lashes. 
The  slave  departed  on  his  errand,  and  Zabastes,  edging 
himself  out  from  the  hushed  and  attentive  throng  of  no- 
bles, stood,  as  it  were,  in  the  foreground  of  the  picture, 
his  thin  lips  twisted  into  a  sneer,  and  his  lean  hands 
grasping  his  staff  viciousty,  as  though  he  longed  to  strike 
somebody  down  with  it. 

A  moment  or  so  passed,  and  then  the  slave  returned, 
his  silver  rod  uplifted,  marshaling  in  a  lovely  double 
procession  of  white-veiled  female  figures  that  came  gliding 
along  as  noiselessly  as  fair  ghosts  from  forgotten  tombs, 
each  one  carrying  a  garland  of  flowers.  They  floated, 
rather  than  walked,  up  to  the  royal  da'is,  and  there  pros- 
trated themselves  two  by  two  before  the  king,  whose 
fiery  glance  rested  upon  them  more  carelessly  than  ten- 
derly, and  as  they  rose,  they  threw  back  their  veils, 
displaying  to  full  view  such  exquisite  faces,  'such  lan- 
guishing, brilliant  eyes,  such  snow-white  necks  and  arms, 
such  graceful,  voluptuous  forms  that  Theos  caught  at  the 
tapestry  near  him  in  reeling  dazzlement  of  sight  and 
sense,  and  wondered  how  Sah-luma,  seated  tranquilly  in 
the  reflective  attitude  he  had  assumed,  could  maintain  so 
unmoved  and  indifferent  a  demeanor. 

Indifferent  he  was,  however,  even  when  the  unveiled 
fair  ones,  turning  from  the  king  to  the  poet,  laid  all  their 
garlands  at  his  feet.  He  scarcely  noticed  the  piled-up 
flowers,  and  still  less  the  lovely  donors,  who,  retiring 
modestly  backward,  took  their  places  on  low  silken  di- 
vans provided  for  their  accommodation  in  a  semi-circlo 
\pimd  the  throne.  Aerain  a  silence  ensued.  Sah-luma 


SAH-LUMA   SINGS  l$J 

evidently  centered  Jike  a  spider  in  a  web  of  his  own 

thought-weaving,  and  nis  attendant  gently  swept  the 
strings  of  the  harp  again  to  recall  his  wandering  fancies. 
Suddenly  he  looked  up,  his  eyes  were  somber,  and  a 
musing  trouble  shadowed  the  brightness  of  his  face. 

"Strange  it  is,  O  Kingl"  he  said  in  low,  suppressed 
tones  that  had  in  them  a  quiver  of  pathetic  sweetness, 
"strange  it  is  that  to-night  the  soul  of  my  singing  dwells 
on  sorrow!  Like  a  stray  bird  flying  'mid  falling  leaves, 
or  a  ship  drifting  out  from  sunlight  to  storm,  so  does 
my  fancy  soar  among  drear  flitting  images  evolved  from 
the  downfall  of  kingdoms,  and  I  seem  to  behold  in  the 
distance  the  far-off  shadow  of  death — " 

"Talk  not  of  death!"  interrupted  the  king  loudly  and 
in  haste.  "'Tis  a  raven  note  that  hath  been  croaked  in 
mine  ears  too  often  and  too  harshly  already!  What! 
hast  thou  been  met  by  the  mad  Khosrul  who  lately 
sprang  on  me,  even  as  a  famished  wolf  of  prey,  and 
grasping  my  bridle  rein,  bade  me  prepare  to  die?  'Twas 
an  ill  jest,  and  one  not  to  be  lightly  forgiven!  'Prepare 
to  die,  O  Zephoranim!'  he  cried;  'for  thy  time  of  reck- 
oning is  come!'  By  my  soul !"  and  the  monarch  broke  into 
a  boisterous  laugh —  had  he  bade  me  prepare  to  live 
'^ would  have  been  more  to  the  purpose!  But  yon  fran- 
tic gray-beard  prates  of  naught  but  death  —  'twere  well 
he  should  be  silenced."  And  as  he  spoke,  he  frowned, 
his  hand  involuntarily  playing  with  the  jeweled  hilt  of 
his  sword. 

"Ay,  death  is  an  unpleasant  suggestion!"  suddenly 
said  Zabastes,  who  had  gradually  moved  up  nearer  and 
neaver  till  he  made  one  of  the  group  immediately  round 
Sah  luma.  '"Tis  a  word  that  should  never  be  mentioned 
in  the  presence  of  kings!  Yet,  notwithstanding  the  in- 
civility of  the  statement,  it  is  most  certain  that  his  most 
potent  majesty,  as  well  as  his  majesty's  most  potent 
laureate,  must — die — !"  And  he  accompanied  the  words 
"must — die — "  with  two  decisive  taps  of  his  staff,  smack- 
ing his  withered  lips  meanwhile  as  though  he  tasted 
something  peculiarly  savory. 

"And  thou  also,  Zabastes!"  retorted  the  king  with  a 
dark  smile,  jestingly  draw'ng  his  sword  and  pointing  it 
full  at  him;  then,  as  the  old  critic  shrank  slightly  at 
trie  gleam  of  the  bare  steel,  replacing  it  dashingly  in  Us 


158  "ARDATH'* 

sheath:  "Thou  also!  and  thine  ashes  shall  be  cast  to  the 
four  winds  of  heaven,  as  suits  thy  vocation,  while  those 
of  thy  master  and  thy  master's  king  lie  honorably  urned 
in  porphyry  and  gold!" 

Zabastes  bowed  with  a  sort  of  mock  humility. 

"It  may  be  so,  most  mighty  Zephoranim,  he  returned, 
composedly.  "Nevertheless  ashes  are  always  ashes,  ana 
the  scattering  of  them  is  but  a  question  of  time!  For 
urns  of  gold  and  porphyry  do  but  excite  the  cupidity  of 
the  vulgar-minded,  and  the  ashes  therein  sealed,  whether 
of  king  or  poet,  stand  as  little  chance  of  reverent  han- 
dling by  future  generations  as  those  of  many  lesser  men. 
And  'tis  doubtful  whether  the  winds  will  know  any  dif- 
ference in  the  scent  or  quality  of  the  various  pinches  of 
human  dust  tossed  on  their  sweeping  circles,  for  the  sub- 
stance of  a  man  reduced  to  earth-atoms  is  always  the 
same,  and  not  a  grain  of  him  can  prove  whether  he  was 
once  a  monarch  crowned,  a  minstrel  pampered,  or  a 
critic  contemned!" 

And  he  chuckled  as  one  having  the  best  of  the  argu- 
ment. The  king  deigned  no  answer,  but  turned  his  eyes 
again  on  Sah-luma,  who  still  sat  pensively  silent. 

"How  long  wilt  thou    be  mute,  my    singing  emperor?" 
he  demanded  gently.      "Canst  thou   not  improvise  a  can- 
ticle of  love  even  in  the  midst  of  thy  soul's  sudden  sad 
ness?" 

At  this  Sah-luma  roused  himself.  Signing  to  his  attend 
ant,  he  took  the  harp  from    him,  and    resting    it  lightly 
on  his  knee,  passed  his  hands  over  it  once  or  twice,  half 
musingly,  half  doubtfully.     A  ripple  of  music    answered 
his  delicate    touch,  music    as    soft    as  the    evening  wind 
murmuring    among    willows.      Another    instant,  and    his 
voice  thrilled  on  the  silence,  a  voice  wonderful,  far  reach 
ing,  mellow  and  luscious  as  with  suppressed    tears,  con 
taining  within  it  a  passion  that    pierced  to   the    heart  of 
the  listener,  and  a  divine  fullness  such  as  surely  was  never 
before  heard  in  human  tones ! 

Theos  leaned  forward  breathlessly,  his  pulse  beating 
with  unwonted  rapidity — what — what  was  it  that  Sah- 
luma  sang?  A  love-song!  in  those  caressing  vowel  sounds 
which  composed  the  language  of  Al-Kyris — a  love  song, 
burning  as  strong  wine,  tender  as  the  murmur  of  the  sea 
on  mellow,  moon,  entranced  evenings,  an  arrowy  shaft  of 


THE  PROPHET  OF  DOOM  159 

rhyme  tipped  with  fire  and  meant  to  strike  home  to  the 
core  of  feeling  and  there  inflict  delicious  wounds;  but,  as 
each  well-chosen  word  echoed  harmoniously  on  his  ears, 
Theos  shrank  back  shuddering  in  every  limb — a  black 
frozen  numbness  seemed  to  pervade  his  being,  an  awful 
maddening  terror  possessed  his  brain,  and  he  felt  as 
though  he  were  suddenly  thrown  into  a  vast  dark  chaos 
where  no  light  should  ever  shine!  For  Sah-luma's  song 
was  his  own \his  own,  his  very  own!  He  knew  it  well! 
He  had  written  it  long  ago  in  the  hey  day  of  his  youth 
when  he  had  fancied  all  the  world  was  waiting  to  be  set 
to  the  music  of  his  inspiration;  he  recognized  every  fancy, 
every  couplet,  every  rhyme!  The  delicate  glowing  bal- 
lad was  his — his  alone,  and  Sah-luma  had  no  right  to  it! 
He,  Theos,  was  the  poet,  not  this  royally  favored  lau- 
reate who  had  stolen  his  ideas  and  filched  his  jewels  of 
thought— ay!  and  he  would  tell  him  so  to  his  face! — he 
would  speak ! — he  would  cry  aloud  his  claims  in  the 
presence  of  the  king  and  demand  instant  justice! 

He  strove  for  utterance;  his  voice  was  gone!  his  lips 
were  moveless  as  the  lips  of  a  stone  image!  Stricken 
absolutely  mute,  but  with  his  sense  of  hearing  quickened 
to  an  almost  painful  acuteness,  he  stood  erect  and  mo- 
tionless— rage  and  fear  contending  in  his  heart,  enduring 
the  torture  of  a  truly  terrific  mystery  of  mind-despair — 
forced  in  spite  of  himself,  to  listen  passively  to  the  love- 
thoughts  of  his  own  dead  past  revived  anew  in  his  rival's 
singing  ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    PROPHET  OF  DOOM. 

A  FEW  slow,  dreadful  minutes  elapsed,  and  then — then 
the  first  sharpness  of  his  strange  mental  agony  sub- 
sided. The  strained  tension  of  his  nerves  gave  way,  and 
a  dull  apathy  of  grief  inconsolable  settled  upon  him. 
He  felt  himself  to  be  a  man  mysteriously  accursed — 
banished,  as  it  were,  out  of  life  and  stripped  of  all  he  had 
once  held  dear  and  valuable.  How  had  it  happened? 
Why  was  he  set  apart  thus  solitary,  poor,  and  empty  of 


160  -'ARDATH" 

all  worth,  while  another  reaped  the  fruits  of  his  genius t 
He  heard  the  loud  plaudits  of  the  assembled  court 
shaking  the  vast  hall  as  the  laureate  ended  his  song,  and, 
drooping  his  head,  some  stinging  tears  welled  up  in  his 
eyes  and  fell  scorchingly  on  his  clasped  hands — tears 
wrung  from  the  very  depth  of  his  secretly  tortured  soul. 
At  that  moment  the  beautiful  Sah-luma  turned  toward 
him  smiling,  as  one  who  looked  for  more  sympathetic 
approbation  than  that  offered  by  a  mixed  throng,  and 
meeting  that  happy, self-conscious,  bland,  half-inquiring 
gaze,  he  strove  his  best  to  return  the  smile.  Just  then, 
Zephoranim's  fiery  glance  swept  over  him  with  a  curious 
expression  of  wonder  and  commiseration.  "By  the  gods, 
yon  stranger  weeps!"  said  the  monarch  in  a  half  ban- 
tering tone.  Then  with  more  gentleness  he  added,  "Yet 
'tis  not  the  first  time  Sah-luma's  voice  hath  unsealed  a 
fountain  of  tears!  No  greater  triumph  can  minstrel  have 
than  this — to  move  the  strong  man's  heart  to  woman's 
tenderness!  We  have  heard  tell  of  poets  who,  singing  of 
death,  have  persuaded  many  straightway  to  die,  but  when 
t.hy  sing  of  sweeter  themes,  of  lovers'  vows,  of  passioi?- 
frenzies,  and  languorous  desires,  cold  is  the  blood  that 
will  not  warm  and  thrill  to  their  divinely  eloquent  allure- 
ments, Come  hither,  fair  sir!"  and  he  beckoned  to  Theos, 
who  mechanically  advanced  in  obedience  to  the  com- 
mand; "Thou  hast  thoughts  of  thine  own,  doubtless,  con- 
cering  love,  and  love's  fervor  of  delight  Hast  aught 
new  to  tell  us  of  its  bewildering  spells,  whereby  the 
most  dauntless  heroes  in  ever}'  age  have  been  caught, 
conquered  and  bound  by  no  stronger  chain  than  a  tress 
of  hair,  or  a  kiss  more  luscious  than  all  the  honey  hid- 
den in  lotus  flowers?" 

Theos  looked  up  dreamily;  his  eyes  wandered  from 
the  king  to  Sah-luma  as  though  in  wistful  search  for 
some  missing  thing;  his  lips  were  parched  and  his  brows 
ached  with  a  heavy  weight  of  pain,  but  he  made  an  effort 
to  speak  and  succeeded,  though  his  words  came  slowly 
and  without  any  previous  reflection  on  his  own  part. 

"Alas,  most  potent  sovereign!"  he  murmured,  "I  am 
a  man  of  sad  memories,  whose  soul  is  liks  the  desert, 
barren  of  all  beauty!  I  may  have  sung  of  love  in  my 
time,  but  my  songs  were  never  new,  never  worthy  to  last 
one  little  hour!  And  whatsoever  of  faith,  passion  or 


THE  PROPHET  OF  DOOM  j6l 

Iveart-ecstasy  my  fancy  could  with  devious  dreams  de- 
vise, Sah-luma  knows,  and  in  Sah-luma's  song  all  my 
best  thoughts  are  said!" 

There  was  a  ring  of  intense  pathos  in  his  voice  as  he 
spoke,  and  the  king  eyed  him  compassionately. 

"Of  a  truth  thou  seemest  to  have  suffered!"  he  observed 
in  gentle  accents.  "Thou  hast  a  look  as  of  one  bereft  of 
joy.  Hast  lost  some  maiden  love  of  thine?  and  dost 
thou  mourn  her  still?" 

A  pang  bitter  as  death  shot  through  Theos' heart.  Had 
the  monarch  suddenly  pierced  him  with  his  great  sword 
he  could  scarcely  have  endured  more  anguish!  For  the 
knowledge  rushed  upon  him  that  he  had  indeed  lost  a 
love  so  faithful,  so  unfathomable,  so  pure  and  perfect, 
that  all  the  world  weighed  in  the  balance  against  it  would 
have  seemed  but  a  grain  of  dust  compared  to  its  inesti- 
mable value ;  but  what  that  love  was,  and  from  whom  it 
emanated,  he  could  no  more  tell  than  the  tide  can  tell 
ii  syllabled  language  the  secret  of  its  attraction  to  the 
moon.  Therefore  he  made  no  answer,  only  a  deep  half 
smothered  sigh  broke  from  him,  and  Z^phoranim,  appar- 
ently touched  by  his  dejection,  continued  good-naturedly: 

"Nay,  nay  !  we  will  not  seek  to  pry  into  the  cause  of 
thy  spirit's  heaviness.  Enough!  think  no  more  of  our 
thoughtless  question — there  is  a  sacredness  in  sorrow! 
Nevertheless,  we  shall  strive  to  make  thee  in  part  forget 
thy  grief  ere  thou  leavest  our  court  and  city.  Meanwhile 
sit  thou  there" — and  he  pointed  to  the  lower  step  of  the 
dai's — "and  thou,  Sah-luma,  sing  again,  and  this  time  let 
thy  song  be  set  to  a  less  plaintive  key." 

He  leaned  back  in  his  throne,  and  Theos  sat  wearily 
down  among  the  flowers  at  the  foot  of  the  dai's  as  com- 
manded. He  was  possessed  by  a  strange  inward  dread — 
the  dread  of  altogether  losing  the  consciousness  of  his 
own  identity — and  while  he  strove  to  keep  a  firm  grasp 
on  his  mental  faculties,  he  at  the  same  time  abandoned 
all  hope  of  ever  extricating  himself  from  the  perplexing 
enigma  in  which  he  was  so  darkly  involved.  Forcing 
himself  by  degrees  into  comparative  calmness,  he  deter- 
mined to  resign  himself  to  his  fate,  and  the  idea  he  had 
just  had  of  boldly  claiming  the  ballad  sung  by  Sah-luma 
as  his  own,  completely  passed  out  of  his  mind. 

lio>    con: ,1  he  speak  against  this  friend  whom  he  loved — 


162  "ARDATH" 

ay!  more  than  he  had  ever  loved  any  living  thing? 
Besides,  what  could  he  prove?  To  begin  with,  in  his 
present  condition  he  could  give  no  satisficory  account 
of  himself.  If  he  were  asked  questions  concerning  his 
nation  or  birthplace  he  could  not  answer  them;  he  did 
not  even  know  where  he  had  come  from,  save  that  his 
memory  persistently  furnished  him  with  the  name  of  a 
place  called  "Ardath. "  But  what  was  this  "Ardath"  to 
him?  he  mused.  What  did  it  signify?  what  had  it  to 
do  with  his  immediate  position?  Nothing,  so  far  as  he 
could  tell!  His  intellect  seemed  to  be  divided  into  two 
parts — one  a  total  blank,  the  other  rilled  with  crowding 
images  that, while  novel, were  yet  curiously  familiar.  And 
how  could  he  accuse  Sah-luma  of  literary  theft,  when  he 
had  none  of  his  own  dated  manuscripts  to  bear  out  his 
case?  Of  course  he  could  easily  repeat  his  boyhood's 
verses  word  for  word,  but  what  of  that?  He,  a  stranger 
in  the  city,  befriended,  and  protected  by  the  laureate, 
would  certainly  be  considered  by  the  people  of  Al-Kyris 
as  far  more  likely  to  steal  Sah-luma's  thoughts  thaiv 
that  Sah-luma  should  steal  his! 

No!  there  was  no  help  for  it.  As  matters  stood  he 
could  say  nothing;  he  could  only  feel  as  though  he  were 
the  sorrowful  ghost  of  some  long-ago  dead  author  re- 
turned to  earth  to  hear  others  claiming  his  works  and 
passing  them  off  as  original  compositions.  And  thus  he- 
was  scarcely  moved  to  any  fresh  surprise  when  Sah-luma, 
giving  back  the  harp  to  his  attendant,  rose  up,  and 
standing  erect  in  an  attitude  unequaled  for  grace  and 
dignity,  began  to  recite  a  poem  he  remembered  to  have 
written  when  he  was  about  twenty  years  of  age — a  poem 
daringly  planned,  which  when  published  had  aroused  the 
bitterest  animosity  of  the  press  critics  on  account  of 
what  they  called  its  "forced  sublimity."  The  sublim- 
ity was  by  no  means  "forced";  it  was  the  spontaneous 
outcome  of  a  fresh  and  ardent  nature  full  of  enthusiasm 
and  high  soaring  aspiration,  but  the  critics  cared  noth- 
ing for  this;  all  they  saw  was  a  young  man  presuming  to 
be  original,  and  down  they  came  upon  him  accordingly. 

He  recollected  all  the  heart-sore  sufferings  he  had 
endured  through  that  ill-fated  and  cruelly  condemned 
composition,  and  now  he  was  listlessly  amazed  at  the 
breathless  rapture  and  excitement  it  evoked  nere  in  this 


THE   PROPHET  OF  DOOM  163 

K/arvelous  city  of  Al  Kyris,  where  everything  seemed 
more  strange  and  weird  than  the  strangest  dream!  It  was 
a  story  of  the  gods  before  the  world  was  made,  of  love 
deep  buried  in  far  eternities  of  light,  of  vast  celestial 
shapes  whose  wanderings  through  the  deep  blue  of  space 
were  tracked  by  the  birth  of  stars  and  suns  and  wonder- 
spheres  of  beauty — a  fanciful  legend  of  translucent  heav- 
enly passion,  telling  how  all  created  worlds  throbbed 
amorously  in  the  purple  seas  of  pure  ether,  and  ho.v 
love,  and  love  alone,  was  the  dominant  chord  of  the  tri- 
umphal march  of  the  universe.  And  with  what  matchless 
eloquence  Sah-luma  spoke  the  glowing  lines! — with  what 
clear  and  rounded  tenderness  of  accent ! — how  exquisitely 
his  voice  rose  and  fell  in  a  rhythmic  rush  like  the  wind 
surging  through  many  leaves! — while  ever  and  anon  in 
the  very  midst  of  the  divinely  entrancing  joy  that  chiefly 
characterized  the  poem,  his  musicianly  art  infused  a 
touch  of  minor  pathos,  a  suggestion  of  the  eternal  com- 
plaint of  Nature  which  even  in  the  happiest  moments 
a:,serts  itself  in  mournful  undertones.  The  effect  of  his 
splendid  declamation  was  heightened  by  a  few  soft  run- 
ning passages  dexterously  played  on  the  harp  by  his  at- 
tendant harpist  and  introduced  just  at  the  right  time. 
And  Theos,  notwithstanding  the  peculiar  position  in 
v/hich  he  was  placed,  listened  to  every  well-remembered 
word  of  his  own  work  thus  recited  with  a  gradually  deep- 
ening sense  of  peace;  he  knew  not  why,  for  the  verses 
in  themselves  were  strangely  passionate  and  wild.  The 
various  impressions  produced  on  the  hearers  were  curi- 
ous to  witness :  the  king  moved  restlessly,  his  bronzed 
cheeks  alternately  flushing  and  paling,  his  hand  now 
grasping  his  sword,  now  toying  with  the  innumerable 
jewels  that  blazed  on  his  breast;  the  women's  eyes  at 
one  moment  sparkled  with  delight  and  at  the  next  grew 
humid  with  tears;  the  assembled  courtiers  pressed  for- 
ward, awed  eager  and  attentive;  the  very  soldiers  on 
guard  seemed  entranced,  and  not  even  a  small  side-whis- 
per disturbed  the  harmonious  fall  and  flow  of  dulcet 
speech  that  rippled  from  the  laureate's  lips. 

When  he  ceased,  there  broke  forth  such  a  tremendous 
uproar  of  applause  that  the  amber  pendants  of  the 
lamps  swung  to  and  fro  in  the  strong  vibration  of  so 
many  uplifted  voices;  shouts  of  frenzied  rapture  echoed 


164  "ARDATH** 

again  and  again  through  the  vaulted  roof  like  thuds  of 
thunder;  shouts  in  which  Theos  joined — as  why  should 
he  not?  He  had  as  good  a  right  as  any  one  to  applaud 
his  own  poem!  It  had  been  sufficiently  abused  hereto- 
fore; he  was  glad  to  find  it  now  so  well  appreciated,  at 
least  in  Al  Kyris!  though  he  had  no  intention  of  putting 
forward  any  claim  to  its  authorship.  No;  for  it  was  evi- 
dent he  had  in  some  inscrutable  way  been  made  an  out- 
cast from  all  literary  honor,  and  a  sort  of  wild  reckless- 
ness grew  up  within  him — a  bitter  mirth  arising  from 
curiously  mingled  feelings  of  scorn  for  himself  and  ten- 
derness for  Sah-luma — and  it  was  in  this  spirit  that  he 
loudly  cheered  the  triumphant  robber  of  his  stores  ot 
poesy, and  even  kept  up  the  plaudits  long  after  they  might 
possibly  have  been  discontinued.  Never,  perhaps,  did  any 
poet  receive  a  grander  ovation, but  the  exquisitely  tranquil 
vanity  of  the  laureate  was  not  a  whit  moved  by  it; — his 
dazzling  smile  dawned  like  a  gleam  of  sunshine  all  over 
his  beautiful  face,  but  save  for  this,  he  gave  no  sign  of 
even  hearing  the  deafening  acclamation  that  resounded 
about  him  on  all  sides. 

"A  new  Hyspiros!"  cried  the  king  enthusiastically, 
and,  detaching  a  magnificently  cut  ruby  from  among  the 
gems  he  wore,  he  flung  it  toward  his  favored  minstrel.  It 
flashed  through  the  air  like  a  bright  spark  of  flame  and 
fell,  glistening  redly  on  the  pavement  just  half-way  be- 
tween Theos  and  Sah-luma.  Theos  eyed  it  with  faintly 
amused  indifference;  the  laureate  bowed  gracefully,  but 
did  not  stoop  to  raise  it —  he  left  that  task  to  his  harp- 
bearer,  who,  taking  it  up,  presented  it  to  his  master 
humbly  on  one  knee.  Then,  and  only  then  Sah-luma 
received  it,  kissed  it  lightly,  and  placed  it  negligently 
among  his  other  ornaments,  smiling  at  the  king  as  he  did 
so  with  the  air  of  one  who  graciously  condescends  to  ac- 
cept a  gift  out  of  kindly  feeling  for  the  donor.  Zabastes 
meanwhile  had  witnessed  the  scene  with  an  expression 
of  mingled  impatience,  malignity  and  disgust  written 
plainly  on  his  furrowed  features,  and  as  soon  as  the  hub- 
bub of  applause  had  subsided,  he  struck  his  staff  on  the 
ground  with  an  angry  clang,  and  exclaimed  irritably: 

"Now  may  the  gods  shield  us  from  a  plague  of  foo?s! 
What  means  this  throaty  clamor?  Ye  praise  what  ye 
do  not  understand,  like  all  the  *est  of  the  discerning 


THE  PROPHET   OF  DOOM  165 

public!  Many  is  the  time,  as  the  weariness  of  my  spirit 
witnesseth,  that  I  have  heard  Sah-luma  rehearse,  but 
never  in  all  my  experience  of  his  prolix  multiloquence 
hath  he  given  utterance  to  such  a  senseless  jingle-jangle 
of  verse-jargon  as  to  night!  Strange  it  is  that  the  so- 
called  'poetical'  trick  of  confusedly  heaping  words  to- 
gether regardless  of  meaning  should  so  bewilder  men 
and  deprive  them  of  all  wise  and  sober  judgment!  By 
my  faith!  I  would  as  soon  listen  to  the  gabble  of  geese 
in  a  farmyard  as  to  the  silly  glibness  of  such  inflated 
twaddle,  such  mawkish  sentiment,  such  turgid  garrulity, 
such  ranting  verbosity — " 

A  burst  of  laughter  interrupted  and  drowned  his  harsh 
voice,  laughter  in  which  none  joined  more  heartily  than 
Sah-luma  himself.  He  had  resumed  his  seat  in  his  ivory 
chair,  and  leaning  back  lazily,  he  surveyed  his  critic 
with  tolerant  good  humor  and  complete  amusement, while 
the  king's  stentorian  "Ha,  ha,  ha!"  resounded  in  ringing 
peals  through  the  great  audience  chamber. 

"Thou  droll  knave!"  cried  Zephoranim  at  last,  dashing 
away  the  drops  his  merriment  had  brought  into  his 
eyes,  "wilt  thou  kill  me  with  thy  bitter-mouthed  jests? 
Of  a  truth  my  sides  ache  at  thee!  What  ails  thee  now? 
Come,  we  will  have  patience,  if  so  be  our  mirth  can  be 
restrained.  Speak!  What  flaw  can'st  thou  find  in  our 
Sah-luma' s  pearl  of  poesy?  What  spots  on  the  sun  of 
his  divine  inspiration?  As  the  Serpent  lives,  thou  art 
an  excellent  mountebank  and  well  deservest  thy  master's 
pay!" 

He  laughed  again,  but  Zabastes  seemed  in  no  wise 
disconcerted.  His  withered  countenance  appeared  to 
harden  itself  into  lines  of  impenetrable  obstinacy.  Tuck- 
ing his  long  staff  under  his  arm, he  put  his  fingers  together 
in  the  manner  of  one  who  inwardly  counts  up  certain  num- 
bers and  with  a  preparatory  smack  of  his  lips  he  began » 

"Free  speech  being  permitted  to  me,  O  most  mighty 
Zephoranim,  I  would  in  the  first  place  say  that  the  poem 
so  greatly  admired  by  your  Majesty  is  totally  devoid  of 
common  sense.  It  is  purely  a  caprice  of  the  imagina- 
tion— and  what  is  imagination?  A  mere  aberration  of  the 
cerebral  nerves,  a  morbidity  of  brain  in  which  the  thoughts 
brood  on  the  impossible — on  things  that  have  never  been 
and  never  will  be.  Thus,  Sah-luma' s  verse  resembles  the 


i 66  "ARDATH" 

incoherent  ravings  of  a  moon-struck  madman;  moreover, 
it  hath  a  prevailing  tone  of  forced  sublimity" — here  Theos 
gave  an  involuntary  start,  then, recollecting  where  he  was 
resumed  his  passive  attitude — I:which  is  in  every  way 
distrustful  to  the  ears  that  love  plain  language.  For  in- 
stance, what  warrant  is  there  for  this  most  foolish  line? 

'The  solemn  chanting  of  the  midnight  stars.' 

Tis  vile,  'tis  vile!  for  whoever  heard  the  midnight  stars 
or  any  other  stars  chant? — who  can  prove  that  the  heav- 
enly bodies  are  given  to  the  study  of  music?  Hath  Sah- 
luma  been  present  at  their  singing-lessons?"  Here  the 
old  critic  chuckled,  and  warming  with  his  subject,  ad- 
vanced a  step  nearer  to  the  throne  as  he  went  on,  "Hear 
yet  another  jarring  simile: 

"  'The  wild  winds  moan  for  pity  of  the  world* 

Was  ever  a  more  indiscreet  lie?  A  brazen  lie! — for 
the  tales  of  shipwreck  sufficiently  prove  the  pitilessness 
of  winds,  and  however  much  a  verse-weaver  may  pretend 
to  be  in  the  confidence  of  nature,  he  is  after  all  but  tliie 
dupe  of  his  own  frenetic  dreams.  One  couplet  halh 
most  discordantly  annoyed  my  senses — 'tis  the  veriest 
doggerel : 

"  'The  sun  with  amorous  clutch 
Tears  off  the  emerald  girdle  of  the  rose! " 

O  monstrous  piece  of  extravagance!— for  how  can  the 
sun  (his  Deity  set  apart)  'clutch'  without  hands? — and 
as  for  'the  emerald  girdle  of  the  rose' — I  know  not  what 
it  means,  unless  Sah-luma  considers  the  green  calyx  of  the 
flower  a  'girdle,' in  which  case  his  wits  must  be  far  gone, 
for  no  shape  of  girdle  can  any  sane  man  descry  in  the 
common  natural  protection  of  a  bud  before  it  blooms! 
There  was  a  phrase,  too,  concerning  nightingales — and 
the  gods  know  we  have  heard  enough  and  too  much  of 
those  overpraised  birds! — "  Here  he  was  interrupted 
by  one  of  his  frequent  attacks  of  coughing,  and  again 
the  laughter  of  the  whole  court  broke  forth  in  joyous 
echoes. 

'Laugh — laugh!"  said  Zabistes, recovering  himself  and 
eyeing  the  throng  with  a  derisive  smile.  "Laugh,  ye 
witless  bantlings  born  of  folly!  and  cling  as  ye  will  to 


THE  PROPHET  OF  DOOM  l6? 

tne  unsubstantial  dreams  your  laureate  blows  for  you  in 
the  air  like  a  child  playing  with  soap-bubbles!  Empty 
and  perishable  are  they  all — they  shine  for  a  moment, 
then  break  and  vanish — and  the  colors  wherewith  they 
sparkled,  colors  deemed  immortal  in  their  beauty,  shall 
pass  away  like  a  breath  and  be  renewed  no  more!" 

"Not  so!"  interposed  Theos  suddenly,  unknowing  why 
bespoke,  but  feeling  inwardly  compelled  to  take  up  Sah- 
luma's  defense,  "for  the  colors  are  immortal, and  permeate 
the  universe  whether  seen  in  the  soap-buble  or  the  rain- 
bow! Seven  tones  of  light  exist,  coequal  with  the  seven 
tones  in  music,  and  much  of  what  we  call  art  and  poesy 
is  but  the  constant  reflux  of  these  never-dying  tints  and 
sounds.  Can  a  critic  enter  more  closely  into  the  secrets 
of  nature  than  a  poet?  Nay!  for  he  would  undo  all  cre- 
ation were  he  able,  and  find  fault  with  its  fairest  produc- 
tions! The  critical  mind  dwells  too  persistently  on  the 
mere  surface  of  things  ever  to  comprehend  or  probe  the 
central  deeps  and  well-springs  of  thought.  Will  a  Zabas- 
tr:s  move  us  to  tears  and  passion?  Will  he  make  our 
pulses  beat  with  any  happier  thrill,  or  stir  our  blood 
into  a  warmer  glow?  He  may  be  able  to  sever  the  petals 
of  a  lily  and  name  its  different  sections,  its  way  oi 
growth  and  habitude,  but  can  he  raise  it  from  the  ground 
alive  and  fair,  a  perfect  flower,  full  of  sweet  odors  and 
still  sweeter  suggestions?  No!  but  Sah-luma  with  en- 
trancing art  can  make  us  see,  not  one  lily  but  a  thousand 
lilies,  all  waving  in  the  light  wind  of  his  fancy;  not  one 
world  but  a  thousand  worlds, circling  through  the  empy- 
rean of  his  rhythmic  splendor  ;  not  one  joy  but  a  thou 
sand  joys,  all  quivering  song-wise  through  the  radiance  ol 
his  clear  illumined  inspiration!  The  heart,  the  human 
heart  alone  is  the  final  touchstone  of  a  poet's  genius,  and 
when  that  responds,  who  shall  deny  his  deathless  fame?" 

Loud  applause  followed    these    words,  and    the  king, 
leaning  forward,  clapped  Theos  familiarly  on  the  shoulder. 

'"Bravely  spoken,  sir  stranger!"  he  exclaimed,  "Thou 
hast  well  vindicated  thy  friend's  honor!  And  by  my 
soul!  thou  hast  a  musical  tongue  of  thine  own!  Who 
knows  but  that  thou  also  may  be  a  poet  yet  in  time  to 
come!  And  thou  Zabastes" — here  he  turned  upon  the 
*id  critic,  who,  while  Theos  spoke,  had  surveyed  him 
ith  much  cynical  disdain — ''get  thee  hence!  Thine  ar 


I 68  "ARDATH* 

guments  are  all  at  fault  as  usual!  Thou  art  tiiyself  a 
disappointed  author — hence  thy  spleen!  Thou  art  blind 
and  deaf,  selfish  and  obstinate;  for  thee  the  very  sun 
is  a  blot  rather  than  a  brightness.  Thou  couldst,  in 
thine  own  opinion,  have  created  a  fairer  luminary  doubt- 
less had  the  matter  been  left  to  thee!  Ay,  ay!  we 
know  thee  for  a  beauty-hating  fool,  and  though  we  laugh 
at  thee,  we  find  thee  wearisome!  Stand  thou  aside  and 
be  straightway  forgotten!  We  will  entreat  Sah-luma 
for  another  song." 

The  discomfited  Zabastes  retired,  grumbling  to  himself 
in  an  undertone,  and  the  laureate,  whose  dreamy  eyes 
had  till  now  rested  on  Theos,  his  self-constituted  advo- 
cate, with  an  appreciative  and  almost  tender  regard,  once 
more  took  up  his  harp,  and  striking  a  few  rich, soft  chords 
was  about  to  sing  again,  when  a  great  noise  as  of  clank- 
ing armor  was  heard  outside,  mingled  with  a  steadily 
increasing  sonorous  hum  of  many  voices  and  the  tramp, 
tramp  of  marching  feet.  The  doors  were  flung  open, 
the  herald-in-waiting  entered  in  hot  haste  and  excite- 
ment, and  prostrating  himself  before  the  throne,  ex- 
claimed: 

"O  great  King,  may  thy  name  live  forever!  Khosrul  is 
taken!" 

Zephoranim's  black  brows  drew  together  in  a  dark 
scowl  and  he  set  his  lips  hard. 

"So!  For  once  thou  art  quick-tongued  in  the  utterance 
of  news!"  he  said  half-scornfully.  "Bring  hither  the 
captive;  as  he  chafes  at  his  bonds  we  will  ourselves 
release  him'1 — and  he  touched  his  sword  significantly — 
"to  a  wider  freedom  than  is  found  on  earth!" 

A  thrill  ran  through  the  courtly  throng  at  these  words, 
and  the  women  shuddered  and  grew  pale.  Sah-luma, 
irritated  at  the  sudden  interruption  that  had  thus  dis- 
tracted the  general  attention  from  his  own  fair  and  flat- 
tered self,  gave  an  expressively  petulant  glance  toward 
Theos,  who  smiled  back  at  him  as  soothingly  as  one 
who  seeks  to  coax  a  spoiled  child  out  of  its  ill  humor, 
and  then  all  eyes  were  turned  expectantly  toward  the 
entrance  of  the  audience  chamber. 

A  band  of  soldiers,  clad  from  head  to  foot  in  glittering 
steel  armor,  and  carrying  short  drawn  swords,  appeared, 
and  marched  with  quick,  ringing  steps  across  the  hall 


THE  PROPHET  OF  DOOM  169 

toward  the  throne.  Arrived  at  the  dai's,  they  halted, 
wheeled  about,  saluted,  and  parted  asunder  in  two  com- 
pact lines,  thus  displaying  in  their  midst  the  bound  and 
manacled  figure  of  a  tall,  gaunt,  wild-looking  old  man, 
with  eyes  that  burned  like  bright  flames  beneath  the 
cavernous  shadow  of  his  bent  and  shelving  brows — a  man 
whose  aspect  was  so  grand,  and  withal  so  terrible,  that 
an  involuntary  murmur  of  mingled  admiration  and  affright 
broke  from  the  lips  of  all  assembled,  like  a  low  wind 
surging  among  leaf -laden  branches  This  was  Khosrul, 
the  prophet  of  a  creed  that  was  to  revolutionize  the 
world,  the  fanatic  for  a  faith  as  yet  unrevealed  to  men, 
the  dauntless  foreteller  of  the  downfall  of  Al-Kyris  and 
its  king. 

Theos  stared  wonderingly  at  him,  at  his  funerael  black 
garments  which  clung  to  him  with  the  closeness  of  a 
shroud,  at  his  long,  untrimmed  beard  and  snow-white 
hair  that  fell  in  disordered,  matted  locks  below  his  shoul- 
ders, at  his  majestic  form  which,  in  spite  of  cords  and 
fetters,  he  held  firmly  erect  in  an  attitude  of  fearless  and 
composed  dignity.  There  was  something  supernaturally 
grand  and  awe-inspiring  about  him — something  com- 
manding as  well  as  defiant  in  the  straight  and  steady 
look  with  which  he  confronted  the  king — and  for  a  moment 
or  so  a  deep  silence  reigned,  silence  apparently  born  of 
superstitious  dread  inspired  by  the  mere  fact  of  his  pres- 
ence. Zephoranim's  glance  rested  upon  him  with  cold 
and  supercilious  indifference.  Seated  haughtily  upright 
in  his  throne,  with  one  hand  resting  on  the  hilt  of  his 
sword,  he  showed  no  sign  of  anger  against  or  interest  in 
his  prisoner,  save  that  to  the  observant  eye  of  Theos  the 
veins  in  his  forehead  seemed  to  become  suddenly  knot- 
ted and  swollen,  while  the  jewels  on  his  bare  ch^st 
heaved  restlessly  up  and  down  with  the  unquiet  panting 
of  his  quickened  breath. 

"We  give  thee  greeting,  Khosrul!"  he  said  slowly  and 
with  a  sinister  smile.  "The  lion's  paw  has  struck  thee 
djwn  at  last!  Too  long  hast  thou  trifled  with  our  pa- 
tience. Thou  must  abjure  thy  heresies — or  die!  What 
sayest  thou  now  of  doom,  of  judgment,  of  the  waning 
of  glory?  Wilt  prophesy? — wilt  denounce  the  faith? 
— wilt  mislead  the  people? — wilt  curse  the  king?  Thou 
mad  sorcerer  I  devil-bewitched  and  blasphemous!  What 


170  "ARDATH" 

shall  hinder  me  from  at  once  slaying  thee?"  And  he 
half  drew  his  formidable  sword  from  its  sheath. 

Khosrul  met  his  threatening  gaze  unflinchingly. 

"Nothing  shall  hinder  thee,  Zephoranim, "  he  replied, 
and  his  voice,  deeply  musical  and  resonant,  struck  to 
Theos'  heart  with  a  strange,  foreboding  chill.  "Nothing — 
save  thine  own  scorn  of  cowardice!" 

The  monarch's  hand  fell  from  his  sword  hilt,  a  flush 
of  shame  reddened  his  dark  face.  He  bent  his  fiery  eyes 
full  on  the  captive,  and  there  was  something  in  the  sor- 
rowful grandeur  of  the  old  man's  bearing,  coupled  with 
his  enfeebled  and  defenseless  condition,  that  seemed  to 
touch  him  with  a  sense  of  compassion,  for,  turning  sud- 
denly to  the  armed  guard,  he  raised  his  hand  with  a 
gesture  of  authority: 

"Unloose  his  fetters!"  he  commanded. 

The  men  hesitated,  apparently  doubting  whether  they 
had  heard  aright. 

Zephoranim  stamped  his  foot  impatiently. 

"Unloose  him,  I  say!  By  the  gods!  must  I  repeat  th<j 
same  thing  twice?  Since  when  have  soldiers  grown  desf 
to  the  voice  of  their  sovereign?  And  why  have  ye  bound 
this  aged  fool  with  so  many  and  tight  bonds?  His 
veins  and  sinews  are  not  of  iron.  Methinks  ye  might  tied 
him  with  thread  and  met  but  small  resistance!  I  have 
known  many  a  muscular  deserter  from  the  army  fastened 
less  securely  when  captured!  Unloose  him,  and  quickly, 
too!  Our  pleasure  is  that  ere  he  dies  he  shall  speak, 
and  he  will,  in  his  own  defense  as  a  free  man." 

In  trembling  haste  and  eagerness  the  guards  at  once 
set  to  work  to  obey  this  order.  The  twisted  cords  were 
untied,  the  heavy  iron  fetters  wrenched  asunder,  and  in 
a  very  short  space  Khosrul  stood  at  comparative  liberty. 
At  first  he  did  not  seem  to  understand  the  king's  gen- 
erosity toward  him  in  this  respect,  for  he  made  no  at- 
tempt to  move.  His  limbs  were  rigidly  composed  as 
though  they  were  still  bound,  and  so  stiff  and  motion- 
less was  his  weird,  attenuated  figure  that  Theos,  behold- 
ing him,  began  to  wonder  whether  he  were  made  of 
actual  flesh  and  blood,  or  whether  he  might  not  more 
possibly  be  some  gaunt  specter,  forced  back  by  mystic 
art  from  another  world  in  order  to  testify  of  things  un- 
known to  living  men.  Zephoranim,  ps^ajiwbile.  called 


THE   PROPHET  OF  DOOM  Ifl 

lor  his  cup-bearer,  a  beautiful  youth  radiant  as  Ganymede 
who,  at  a  sign  from  his  royal  master,  approached  the 
prophet,  and,  pouring  wine  from  a  jeweled  flagon  into  a 
goblet  of  gold,  offered  it  to  him  with  a  courteous  salute 
and  smile.  Khosrul  started  violently  like  one  suddenly 
wakened  from  a  deep  dream.  Shading  his  eyes  with  his 
lean  and  wrinkled  hand,  he  stared  dubiously  at  the  young 
and  gayly-attired  servitor,  then  pushed  the  goblet  aside 
with  a  shuddering  gesture  of  aversion. 

"Away — away!"  he  muttered  in  a  thrilling  whisper 
that  penetrated  to  every  part  of  the  vast  hall.  "Wilt 
force  me  to  drink  blood?"  He  paused,  and  in  the  same 
low,  horror  stricken  tone,  continued:  "Blood — blood!  It 
stains  the  earth  and  sky! — its  red,  red  waves  swallow  up 
the  land! — the  heavens  grow  pale  and  tremble — the  sil- 
ver stars  blacken  and  decay,  and  the  winds  of  the  desert 
make  lament  for  that  which  shall  come  to  pass  ere  ever 
the  grapes  be  pressed  or  the  harvest  gathered!  ,Blood 
— blood!  The  blood  of  the  innocent!  'tis  a  scarlet  sea, 
v/herein  like  a  broken  and  empty  ship,  Al-Kyris  found- 
ers— founders — never  to  rise  again!" 

These  words,  uttered  with  such  hushed  yet  passionate 
intensity,  produced  a  most  profound  impression.  Several 
courtiers  exchanged  uneasy  glances,  and  the  women  half 
lose  from  their  seats,  looking  toward  the  king  as  though 
silently  requesting  permission  to  retire.  But  an  imperi- 
ous negative  sign  from  Zephoranim  obliged  them  to 
resume  their  places,  though  they  did  so  with  obvious 
nervous  reluctance. 

"Thou  art  mad,  Khosrul!"  then  said  the  monarch  in 
calmly  measured  accents:  "And  for  thy  madness,  as 
also  for  thine  age,  we  have  till  now  retarded  justice,  out 
of  pity.  Nevertheless,  excess  of  pity  in  great  kings  to 
oft  degenerates  into  weakness,  and  this  we  cannot  suffer 
to  be  said  of  us,  not  even  for  the  sake  of  sparing  thy  few 
poor  remaining  years.  Thou  hast  overstepped  the  limit 
of  our  leniency,  and  madman  as  thou  art,  thou  showest 
a  madman's  cunning.  Thou  dost  break  the  laws  and  art 
dangerous  to  the  realm;  thou  art  proved  a  traitor,  and 
must  straightway  die.  Thou  art  accused — " 

"Of  honesty!'  interrupted  Khosrul  suddenly,  with  a 
fcjuch  of  melancholy  satire  in  his  tone.  "I  have  spoken 
truth  in  an  age  of  lies!  'Tis  a  most  death-worthy  deedl* 


iji  "'ARDATH 

He  ceased,  and  again  seemed  to  retire  within  himself 
as  though  he  were  a  voice  entering  at  will  into  the  cav- 
ern image  of  man.  Zephoranim  frowned  angrily,  yet  an- 
swered nothing,  and  a  brief  pause  ensued.  Theos  grew 
more  and  more  painfully  interested  in  the  scene — there 
was  something  in  it  that  to  his  mind  seemed  fatefully 
suggestive  and  fraught  with  impending  evil.  Suddenly 
Sah-luma  looked  up,  his  bright  face  alit  with  laughter. 

"Now,  by  the  sacred  veil,"  he  said  gayly,  addressing 
himself  to  the  king.  "Your  majesty  considers  this  ven- 
erable gentleman  with  too  much  gravity!  I  recognize  in 
him  one  of  my  craft — a  poet,  tragic  and  taciturn  of 
humor  and  with  a  taste  for  melodramatic  simile.  Marked 
you  not  the  mixing  of  his  word-colors  in  the  picture  he 
drew  of  Al-Kyris,  foundering  like  a  wrecked  ship  in  a 
blood-red  sea,  while  overhead  trembled  a  white  sky,  set 
thick  with  blackening  stars?  As  I  live,  'twas  not  ill- 
devised  for  a  madman's  brain.  And  so  solemn  a  ranter 
should  serve  your  majesty  to  make  merriment  withal, 
in  place  of  my  poor  Zabastes,  whose  peevish  jests  grow 
somewhat  stale,  owing  to  the  critic's  chronic  want  of 
originality!  Nay,  I  myself  shall  be  willing  to  enter  into 
a  rhyming  joust  with  so  diconsolately  morose  a  contem- 
porary ;  and  who  knows  whether,  betwixt  us  twain,  the 
chords  of  the  major  and  minor  may  not  be  harmonized 
in  some  new  and  altogether  marvelous  fashion  of  music 
such  as  we  wot  not  of?"  And,  turning  to  Khosrul,  he 
added:  "Wilt  break  a  lance  of  song  with  me,  sir  gray- 
beard?  Thou  shalt  croak  of  death,  and  I  will  chant  of 
love,  and  the  king  shall  pronounce  judgment  as  to  which 
melody  hath  the  most  potent  and  lasting  sweetness." 

Khosrul  lifted  his  head  and  met  the  laureate's  half- 
mirthful,  half-mocking  smile  with  a  look  of  infinite  com- 
passion in  his  own  deep,  solemnly  penetrating  eyes. 

"Thou  poor,  deluded  singer  of  a  perishable  day!"  he 
said  mournfully.  "Alas  for  thee,  that  thou  must  die  so 
soon,  and  be  so  soon  forgotten!  Thy  fame  is  worthless 
as  a  grain  of  sand  blown  by  the  breath  of  the  sea;  thy 
pride  and  thy  triumph,  evanescent  as  the  mists  of  the 
morning  that  vanish  in  the  heat  of  the  sun!  Great  has 
been  the  measure  of  thine  inspiration;  yet  thou  hast 
missed  its  true  teaching,  and  of  all  the  golden  threads 
of  poesy  placed  freely  in  thy  hands  thou  hast  not  woven 


THE  PROPHET  OF  DOOM  173 

one  clew  whereby  thou  shouldst  find  God!  Alas,  Sah- 
luma!  Bright  soul  unconscious  of  thy  fate!  Thou  shalt 
be  suddenly  and  roughly  slain,  and  there  sits  thy  de- 
stroyer!" 

And  as  he  spoke  he  raised  his  shrunken,  skeleton  like 
hand  and  pointed  steadily  to  the  king.  There  was  a 
momentary  hush — a  stillness  as  of  stupefied  amazement 
and  horror;  then,  to  the  apparent  relief  of  all  present, 
Zephoranim  burst  out  laughing. 

'By  all  the  virtues  of  Nagaya, "  he  cried,  "this  is  most 
excellent  fooling.  I,  Zephoranim,  the  destroyer  of  my 
friend  and  first  favorite  in  *the  realm?  Old  man,  thy 
frenzy  exceeds  belief  and  exhausts  patience,  though  of 
a  truth  I  am  sorry  for  the  shattering  of  thy  wits.  'Tis 
sad  that  reason  should  be  lacking  to  one  so  reverend 
and  grave  of  aspect.  Dear  to  me  as  my  royal  crown  is 
the  life  of  Sah-luma,  through  whose  inspired  writings 
alone  my  name  shall  live  in  the  annals  of  future  history — 
for  the  glory  of  the  great  poet  must  ever  surpass  the 
renown  of  the  greatest  king.  Were  Al-Kyris  besieged 
by  a  thousand  enemies  and  these  strong  palace-walls 
razed  to  the  ground  by  the  engines  of  warfare,  we  would 
ourselves  defend  Sah-luma! — ay,  even  cry  aloud  in  the 
heat  of  combat  that  he,  the  chief  minstrel  of  our  land, 
should  be  sheltered  from  fury  and  spared  from  death,  as 
the  only  one  capable  of  chronicling  our  vanquishment  or 
victory!" 

Sah-luma  smiled  and  bowed  gracefully  in  response  to 
this  enthusiastic  assurance  of  his  sovereign's  friendship, 
but  nevertheless  there  was  a  slight  shadow  of  uneasiness 
on  his  bold,  beautiful  brow.  He  had  evidently  been  un- 
comfortably impressed  by  Khosrul's  words,  and  the  rest- 
less anxiety  reflected  in  his  face  communicated  itself  by 
a  sort  of  electric  thrill  to  Theos,  whose  heart  began  to 
beat  heavily  with  a  sense  of  vague  alarm.  "What  is  this 
Khosrul?"  he  thought  half  resentfully,  "and  how  dares 
he  predict  for  the  adored,  the  admired  Sah-luma,  so 
dark  and  unmerited  an  end?"  Hark!  what  was  that  low, 
far-off  rumbling,  as  of  underground  wheels  rolling  at  full 
speed?  He  listened,  then  glanced  at  those  persons  who 
stood  nearest  to  him.  No  one  seemed  to  hear  anything 
unusual.  Moreover,  all  eyes  were  fixed  fearfully  on 
Khosrul,  whose  before  rigidly  somber  demeanor  had  sud- 


174  "ARDATH" 

denly  changed,  and  who  now  with  raised  head,  tossed 
hair,  outstretched  arms,  and  wild  gesture,  looked  like  a 
flaming  terror  personified. 

"Victory!  Victory!"  he  cried,  catching  at  the  king's 
last  word.  "There  shall  be  no  more  victory  for  thee, 
Zephoranim!  Thy  conquests  are  ended,  and  the  flag  of 
thy  glory  shall  cease  to  wave  on  the  towers  of  thy  strong 
citadels!  Deach  stands  behind  thee!  Destruction  clamors 
at  thy  palace-gates,  and  the  enemy  that  cometh  upon  thee 
unawares  is  a*j  enemy  that  none  shall  vanquisher  subdue — > 
not  even  they  who  are  mightiest  among  the  mighty! 
Thy  strong  men  of  war  shall  be  trodden  down  as  wheat ; 
thy  captains  and  rulers  shall  tremble  and  wail  as  children 
bewildered  with  fear;  thy  great  engines  of  battle  shall 
be  to  thee  as  naught,  and  the  arrows  of  thy  skilled  archera 
shall  be  useless  as  straws  in  the  gathering  tempest  of  fire 
and  fury.  Zephoranim!  Zephoranim!" — and  his  voice 
thrilled  with  terrific  emphasis  through  the  vaulted  cham- 
ber— "the  days  of  recompense  are  come  upon  thee,  swift 
and  terrible  as  the  desert-wind!  The  doom  of  Al  Kyris 
is  spoken,  and  who  shall  avert  its  fulfillment?  Al-Kyris 
the  Magnificent  shall  fall — shall  fall!  Its  beauty,  its 
greatness,  its  pleasantness,  its  power,  shall  be  utterly 
destroyed,  and  ere  the  waning  of  the  midsummer  moon 
not  one  stone  of  its  glorious  buildings  shall  be  left  to 
prove  that  here  was  once  a  city  Fire!  fire — "  and  here 
he  ran  abruptly  to  the  foot  of  the  royal  dais,  his  dark 
garments  brushing  against  Theos  as  he  passed,  and 
springing  on  the  first  step,  stood  boldly  within  hand- 
reach  of  the  king,  who,  taken  aback  by  the  suddenness 
of  his  action,  stared  at  him  with  a  sort  of  amazed  and 
angry  fascination.  "To  arms,  Zephoranim!  To  arms! 
Take  up  thy  sword  and  shield — get  thee  forth  and  fight 
with  fire!  Fire!  How  shall  the  king  quench  it?  How 
shall  the  mighty  monarch  defend  his  people  against  it? 
See  you  not  how  it  fills  the  air  with  red,  devouring 
tongues  of  flame?  The  thick  smoke  reeks  of  blood!  Al- 
Kyris  the  Magnificent,  the  pleasant  city  of  sin,  the  idol- 
atrous city,  is  broken  in  pieces  and  is  become  a  waste  of 
ashes!  Who  will  join  with  me  in  a  lament  for  Al-Kyris? 
I  will  call  upon  the  desert  of  the  sea  to  hear  my  voice ; 
I  will  pour  forth  my  sorrows  on  the  wind,  and  it  shall 
carry  the  burden  of  grief  to  the  four  quarters  of  the  earth. 


tHE   PROPHET   OF   DOOM  175 

All  nations  shall  shudder  and  be  astonished  at  the  dire- 
ful end  of  Al-Kyris,  the  city  beautiful,  the  empress  of 
kingdoms!  Woe  unto  Al-Kyris,  for  she  hath  suffered 
herself  to  be  led  astray  by  her  rulers!  She  hath  drunken 
deep  of  the  innocent  blood  and  hath  followed  after  idols. 
Her  abominations  are  manifold,  and  the  hearts  of  her 
young  men  and  maidens  are  full  of  evil!  Therefore  be- 
cause Al-Kyris  deligiit^th  in  pride  and  despiseth  repent- 
ance, so  shall  destruction  descend  furiously  upon  her, 
even  as  a  sudden  tempest  in  the  mid-watches  of  the 
night.  She  shall  be  swept  away  from  the  surface  of  the 
earth;  wolves  shall  make  their  lair  in  her  pleasant  gar- 
den, and  the  generations  of  men  shall  remember  her  no 
more!  O  ye  kings,  princes  and  warriors!  Weep,  weep 
for  the  doom  of  Al-Kyris!"  and  now  his  wild  voice  sank 
by  degrees  into  a  piteous  plaintiveness — "Weep!  for  never 
again  on  earth  shall  be  found  a  fairer  dwelling-place 
for  the  lovers  of  joy!  Never  again  shall  be  builded  a 
grander  city  for  the  glory  and  wealth  of  a  people!  Al- 
Kyris!  Al-Kyris!  Thou  that  boasteth  of  ancient  days 
and  long  lineage!  thou  art  become  a  forgotten  heap  of 
ruin!  the  sands  of  the  desert  shall  cover  thy  temples  and 
palaces,  and  none  hereafter  shall  inquire  concerning 
thee!  None  shall  bemoan  thee,  none  shall  shed  tears 
for  the  grievous  manner  of  thy  death,  none  shall  know 
the  name  of  thy  mighty  heroes  and  men  of  fame — for  thou 
shalt  vanish  utterly  and  be  lost  far  out  of  memory  even 
as  though  thou  hadst  never  been!" 

Here  he  stopped  abruptly  and  caught  his  breath  hard; 
his  blazing  eyes,  preternaturally  large  and  brilliant,  fixed 
themselves  steadfastly  on  the  sculptured  ivor}'  shield 
that  surmounted  the  back  of  the  kings'  throne,  and  over 
his  drawn  and  wrinkled  features  came  an  expression  of 
such  ghastly  horror  that  instinctively  every  one  present 
turned  their  looks  in  the  same  direction.  Suddenly  a 
shriek,  piercing  and  terrible,  broke  from  his  lips — a  shriek 
that  like  a  swiftly  descending  knife  seemed  to  saw  the 
air  discordantly  asunder. 

"See!  see!"  he  cried  in  fierce  haste  and  eagerness. 
3ee  how  the  crested  head  gleams!  How  the  soft,  shiny 
throat  curves  and  glistens  ! — how  the  lithe  body  twists 
and  twines!  Hence!  hence,  accursed  snake!  thou  poi- 
soner of  peace!  thou  quivering  sting  in  the  flesh!  thou 


176  "ARDATH" 

destroyer  of  the  strength  of  manhood!  What  hast  thou 
to  do  with  Zephoranim,  that  thou  dost  wind  thy  many 
coils  about  his  heart?  Lysia! — Lysia! — "  here  the  king 
started  violently,  his  face  flushing  darkly  red — "Thou 
delicate  abomination  !  Thou  tyrannous  treachery  !  what 
shall  be  done  unto  thee  in  the  hour  of  darkness?  Put 
off,  put  off  the  ornaments  of  gold  and  jewels  wherewith 
thou  adornest  thy  beauty,  and  crown  thyself  with  the 
crown  of  an  endless  affliction!  for  thou  shalt  be  girdled 
round  about  with  flame,  and  fire  shall  be  thy  garment! 
Thy  lips  that  have  drunken  sweet  wine  shall  be  steeped 
in  bitterness !  Vainly  shalt  thou  make  thyself  fair  and 
call  aloud  on  thy  legion  of  lovers — the)'  shall  be  as  dead 
men,  deaf  to  thine  entreaties,  and  none  shall  answer 
thee — no,  not  one!  None  shall  hide  thee  from  shame  or 
offer  thee  comfort ;  in  the  midst  of  thy  lascivious  delights 
shalt  thou  suddenly  perish,  and  my  soul  shall  be  avenged 
on  thy  sins, thou unvirgined  virgin!  thou  queen-courtesan!" 
Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  last  word,  when  the  king 
with  a  furious  oath  sprang  upon  him,  grasped  him  by  the 
throat,  and  thrusting  him  fiercely  down  on  the  steps  of 
the  dais,  placed  one  foot  on  his  prostrate  body.  Then 
drawing  his  gigantic  sword,  he  lifted  it  on  high.  The 
bright  blade  glittered  in  air,  an  audible  gasp  of  terror 
broke  from  the  throng  of  spectators.  Another  second,  and 
KhoFrul's  life  would  have  paid  the  forfeit  of  his  temeri- 
ty— when  crash!  a  sudden  and  tremendous  clap  of  thun- 
der shook  the  hall,  and  every  lamp  was  extinguished! 
Impenetrable  darkness  reigned — thick,  close,  suffocating 
darkness — the  thunder  rolled  away  in  sullen,  vibrating 
echoes,  and  there  was  a  short,  impressive  silence.  Then 
piercing  through  the  profound  gloom  came  the  clamorous 
cries  and  shrieks  of  frightened  women,  the  horrible,  sel- 
fish scrambling,  pushing  and  struggling  of  a  bewildered, 
panic-stricken  crowd,  the  helpless,  nerveless,  unreasoning 
distraction  that  human  beings  exhibit  when  striving  to- 
gether for  escape  from  some  imminent  deadly  peril  ;  and 
though  the  king's  stentorian  voice  could  be  heard  above 
all  the  tumult  loudly  commanding  order,  his  alternate 
threats  and  persuasions  were  of  no  avail  to  calm  the 
frenzy  of  fear  into  which  the  whole  court  was  thrown. 
Groans  and  sobs,  wild  entreaties  to  Nagaya  and  the  Sun- 
God,  curses  from  the  soldiery,  who,  intent  on  saving 


THE  PROPHET  OF  DOOM  177 

themselves,  were  brutally  trying  to  force  a  passage  to 
the  door  regardless  of  the  wailing  women,  whose  frantic 
appeals  for  rescue  and  assistance  were  heartrending  to 
near — all  these  sounds  increased  the  horror  of  the  situa- 
tion, and  Theos,  blind,  giddy,  and  confused,  listened  to 
tho  uproar  around  him  with  something  of  the  affrighted 
compassion  that  a  stranger  in  hell  might  be  supposed 
to  feel  when  harkening  to  the  ceaseless  plaints  of  the 
self  tortured  wicked.  He  endeavored  to  grope  his  way 
to  Sah-luma's  side;  and  just  then  the  lights  appeared, 
lights  that  were  not  of  earth's  kindling — strange  wan- 
dering flames  that  danced  and  flitted  along  the  tapestried 
walls  like  will-o'-the  wisps  on  a  dark  morass,  and  flung 
a  ghastly  blue  glare  on  the  pale  uneasy,  faces  of  the 
scared  people,  till,  gathering  in  a  sort  of  lurid  ring  round 
the  throne,  they  outlined  in  strong  relief  the  enraged 
Titanesque  figure  of  Zephoranim,  whose  upraised  sword 
looked  in  itself  like  an  arrested  flash  of  lightning. 
Brighter  and  brighter  grew  the  weird  luster,  illumining 
the  whole  scene  the  vast  length  of  the  splendid  hall,  the 
shining  armor  of  the  soldiers,  the  white  robes  of  the 
women,  the  flags  and  pennons  that  hung  from  the  roof 
and  swayed  to  and  fro  as  though  blown  by  a  gust  of  wind 
— every  object  near  and  distant  was  soon  as  visible  as 
in  broad  day — and  then — a  terrible  cry  of  rage  burst  from 
the  king,  the  cry  of  a  maddened  wild  beast. 

"Death  and  fury!"  he  shouted,  striking  his  sword  with 
a  fierce  clang  against  the  silver  pedestal  of  the  throne. 
"Where  is  Khosrul  ?" 

The  silence  of  an  absolute  dismay  answered.  Khosrul 
had  fled!  Like  a  cloud  melting  in  air,  or  a  ghost  van- 
ishing into  the  nether-world,  he  had  mysteriously  disap- 
peared—  he  had  escaped,  no  one  knew  how,  from  under 
the  very  feet  and  out  of  the  very  grasp  of  the  irate  mon- 
arch, whose  baffled  wrath  now  knew  no  bounds. 

"Dolts,  idiots,  cowards!"  and  he  hurled  these  epithets 
at  the  timorous  crowd  with  all  the  ferocity  of  a  giant 
hurling  stones  at  a  swarm  of  pygmies.  "Babes  that  are 
frightened  by  a  summer  thunderstorm!  Ye  have  let  yon 
accursed  heretic  slip  from  my  hands  ere  I  had  choked 
him  with  his  own  lie!  O  ye  fools!  Ye  puny  villains! 
I  take  shame  to  myself  that  I  am  king  of  such  a  race  of 
weaklings!  Lights!  Bring  lights  hither,  ye  whimpering 


178  "ARDATH" 

slaves — ye  shivering  poltroons!  What!  call  yourselves 
menl  Nay — ye  are  feeble  girls  pranked  out  in  men's 
attire,  and  your  steel  corslets  cover  the  faintest  hearts 
that  ever  failed  for  dastard  fear!  Shut  fast  the  palace- 
gates! — close  every  barrier! — search  every  court  and 
corner,  lest  haply  this  base  false  prophet  be  still  here  in 
hiding — he  that  blasphemed  with  ribald  tongue  the  high 
priestess  of  our  faith,  the  holy  virgin  Lysia!  Are  ye  alJ 
turned  renegades  and  traitors  that  ye  will  suffer  him  to 
go  free  and  triumph  in  his  lawless  heresy?  Ye  shame- 
less knaves!  Ye  milk-veined  rascals !  What  abject  terror 
makes  ye  thus  quiver  like  aspen-leaves  in  a  storm.  This 
darkness  is  but  a  conjurer's  trick  to  scare  women,  and 
KhosruPs  followers  can  so  play  with  the  strings  of  elec- 
tricity that  ye  are  duped  into  accepting  the  witch-glamour 
as  heaven's  own  cloud  flame!  By  the  gods!  If  Al-Kyris 
falls,  as  yon  dotard  pronounceth,  her  ruins  shall  bury  but 
few  heroes!  O  superstitious  and  degraded  souls!  X 
would  ye  were  even  as  I  am — a  man  dauntless — a  soldier 
unafraid!" 

His  powerful  and  indignant  voice  had  the  effect  of 
partially  checking  the  panic  and  restoring  something 
like  order.  The  pushing  and  struggling  for  an  immediate 
exit  ceased,  the  armed  guards  in  shamed  silence  began 
to  marshal  themselves  together  in  readiness  to  start  on 
the  search  for  the  fugitive,  and  several  pages  rushed  in 
with  flaring  torches,  which  cast  a  wondrous  fire-glow  on 
the  surging  throng  of  eager  and  timid  faces,  the  brilliant 
costumes,  the  flash  of  jewels,  the  glimmering  of  swords 
and  the  dark  outlines  of  the  fluttering  tapestry — all  form- 
ing together  a  curious  chiaro-oscuro,  from  which  the  mas- 
sive figure  of  Zephoranim  stood  out  in  bold  and  striking 
prominence  against  the  white  and  silver  background  of 
his  throne.  Vaguely  bewildered  and  lost  in  a  dim  stu- 
pefaction of  wonderment,  Theos  looked  upon  everything 
with  an  odd  sense  of  strained  calmness — the  glittering 
saloon  whirled  before  his  eyes  like  a  passing  picture  in 
a  magic  glass — and  then,  an  imperative  knowledge  forced 
itself  upon  his  mind — he  had  witnessed  this  selfsame 
scene  before!  Where?  and  when?  Impossible  to  say, 
but  he  distinctly  remembered  each  incident!  This  im- 
pression, however,  left  him  as  rapidly  as  it  had  come — be- 
fore he  had  any  time  to  puzzle  himself  about  it— and 


A  VHIGIN   UNSHKiN*»  179 

just  at  that  moment  Sah-luma's  hand  caught  his  own. 
Sah-luma's  voice  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"Let  us  away,  my  friend!  There  will  be  naught  now 
but  mounting  of  guards  and  dire  confusion.  The  king  is 
as  a  lion  roused  and  will  not  cease  growling  till  his  ven- 
geance be  satisfied!  A  plague  on  this  shatter-pated 
prophet!  He  hath  broken  through  my  music  and  jarred 
poesy  into  discord!  By  the  sacred  veil!  Didst  ever  hear 
such  a  hideous  clamor  of  contradictory  tongues?  all  striv- 
ing to  explain  what  defies  explanation,  namely,  Khosrul's 
flight,  for  which,  after  all>  no  one  is  to  blame  so  much 
as  Zephoranim  himself;  but  'tis  the  privilege  of  mon- 
archs  to  shift  their  own  mistakes  and  follies  on  to  the 
shoulders  of  their  subjects!  Come!  Lysia  awaits  us,  and 
will  not  easily  pardon  our  tardy  obedience  to  her  sum- 
mons. Let  us  hence  ere  the  gates  of  the  palace  close." 

Lysia!  The  "unvirgined  virgin,"  the  "queen-courtesan!" 
So  had  said  Khosrul.  Nevertheless  her  name,  like  a  sil- 
ver clarion,  made  the  heart  of  Theos  bound  with  inde- 
scribable gladness  and  feverish  expectation,  and  without 
an  instant's  pause  he  readily  yielded  to  Sah-luma's  guid- 
ance through  the  gorgeously  colored  confusion  of  the 
swaying  crowd.  Arm-in-arm,  the  twain,  one  a  poet  re- 
nowned, the  other  a  poet  forgotten,  threaded  their  rapid 
way  between  the  ranks  of  nobles,  officers,  slaves,  and 
court-lackeys  who  were  all  excitedly  discussing  the 
recent  scare,  the  prophet's  escape,  and  the  dread  wrath 
of  the  king,  and  hurrying  along  the  vast  hall  of  the  Two 
Thousand  Columns,  they  passed  together  out  into  the 
night 


CHAPTER    VI|. 

A  VIRGIN  UNSHRINED, 

UNDER  the  cloudless,  star-patterned  sky,  in  the  soft, 
warm  air  that  brimmed  with  the  fragrance  of  roses,  they 
drove  once  more  together  through  the  spacious  streets 
of  Al  Kyris — streets  that  were  now  nearly  deserted  save 
for  a  few  late  passers  by  whose  figures  were  almost  as 
in4istinct  and  rapid  in  motion  as  pale,  flitting  shadows. 


ISO  '*ARDATH* 

There  was  not  a  sign  of  storm  in  the  lovely  heavens, 
though  now  and  again  a  sullen  roll  as  of  a  distant  can- 
nonade hinted  of  pent-up  anger  lurking  somewhere  be- 
hind that  clear  and  exquisitely  dark-blue  ether,  in  which 
a  million  worlds  blazed  luminously  like  pendulous  drops 
of  white  fire.  Sah-luma's  chariot  whirled  along  with 
incredible  swiftness,  the  hoofs  of  the  galloping  horses 
occasionally  striking  sparks  of  flame  from  the  smooth, 
mosaic-pictured  pavement;  but  Theos  now  began  to 
notice  that  there  was  a  strange  noiselessness  in  their 
movements — that  the  whole  cortege  appeared  to  be  en- 
vironed by  a  magic  circle  of  silence,  and  that  the  very 
night  itself  seemed  breathlessly  listening  in  entranced 
awe  to  some  unlanguaged  warning  from  the  gods  invisible. 

Compared  with  the  turbulence  and  terror  just  left  be- 
hind at  the  king's  palace,  this  weird  hush  was  uncom- 
fortably impressive,  and  gave  a  sense  of  fantastic  unreal- 
ity to  the  scene.  The  sleepy,  mesmeric  radiance  of  the 
full  moon,  shining  on  the  delicate  traceries  of  the  quaintly 
sculptured  houses  on  either  hand,  made  them  look  brittle 
and  evanescent;  the  great  heavy  hanging  orange  boughs 
and  the  feathery  frondage  of  the  tall  palms  seemed  out- 
liend  in  mere  mist  against  the  sky;  and  the  glimpses 
caught  from  time  to  time  of  the  broad  and  quietly  flowing 
river  were  like  so  many  flashes  of  light  seen  through  a 
veil  of  cloud,  Theos,  standing  beside  his  friend  with 
one  hand  resting  familiarly  on  his  shoulder,  dreamily 
admired  the  phantom-like  beauty  of  the  city  thus  trans- 
figured in  the  moonbeams,  and  though  he  vaguely  wondered 
a  little  at  the  deep,  mysterious  stillness  that  every- 
where prevailed,  he  scarcely  admitted  to  himself  there 
was,  or  could  be,  anything  unusual  in  it.  He  took  his 
position  as  he  found  it — indeed,  he  could  not  well  do 
otherwise,  since  he  felt  that  his  fate  was  ruled  by  some 
resolute  unseen  force,  against  which  all  resistance  would 
be  unavailing.  Moreover,  his  mind  was  now  entirely  pos- 
sessed by  the  haunting  vision  of  Lysia — a  vision  half 
human,  half  divine — a  beautiful,  magical,  irresistible 
sweetness  that  allured  his  soul,  and  roused  within  him  a 
wordless  passion  of  infinite  desire. 

He  exchanged  not  a  syllable  with  Sah-luma — an  inde- 
finable yet  tacit  understanding  existed  between  them,  an 
intuitive  foreknowledge  and  subtle  perception  of  each 


A  VIRGIN    UNSHklNED  l8l 

other's  character,  intentions,  and  aims,  that  for  the  mo- 
ment rendered  speech  unnecessary.  And  there  was  some- 
thing, after  all,  in  the  profound  silence  of  the  night 
that,  while  strange,  was  also  eloquent— eloquent  of  mean- 
ings unutterable,  such  as  lie  hidden  in  the  scented  cups 
of  flowers  when  lovers  gather  them  on  idle  summer  after- 
noons and  weave  them  into  posies  for  one  another's 
wearing.  How  fleetly  the  gilded,  shell-shaped  car  sped 
on  its  way!  Trees,  houses,  bridges,  domes,  and  cupolas, 
seemed  to  fly  past  in  a  varied  whirl  of  glistening  color! 
Now  and  again  a  cluster  of  fire-flies  broke  from  some 
thicket  of  shade  and  danced  drowsily  by  in  sparkling 
tangles  of  gold  and  green.  Here  and  there  from  great 
open  squares  and  branch-shadowed  gardens  gleamed  the 
stone  face  of  an  obelisk,  or  the  white  column  of  a  foun- 
tain, while  over  all  things  streamed  the  long,  prismatic 
fays  flung  forth  from  the  revolving  lights  in  the  twelve 
towers  of  the  Sacred  Temple,  like  flaming  spears  ranged 
lengthwise  against  the  limitless  depth  of  the  midnight 
horizon.  With  straining  necks,  tossed  manes,  and  foam 
flying  from  their  nostrils,  Sah-luma's  fiery  coursers  dashed 
onward  at  almost  lightning  speed,  and  the  journey  be- 
came a  wild,  headlong  rush  through  the  dividing  air — a 
rush  toward  some  voluptuous  end,  dimly  discerned,  yet 
indefinite! 

At  last  they  stopped.  Before  then  rose  a  lofty  building, 
crested  with  fantastic  pinnacles  such  as  are  formed  by 
ice  on  the  roof  in  times  of  intense  cold.  A  great  gate 
stood  open,  and  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  in  front  of 
it  was  a  tall  slave  in  white  tunic  and  turban,  who,  turn- 
ing his  gleaming  eyeballs  on  Sah-luma,  nodded  by  way 
of  salutation,  and  then  uttered  a  sharp,  peculiar  whistle. 
This  summons  brought  out  two  curious  dwarfish  figure? 
of  men,  whose  awkward,  misshapen  limbs  resembled  the 
contorted  branches  of  wind-blown  trees,  and  whose  coarse 
and  repulsive  countenances  betokened  that  malignant 
delight  in  evil-doing  which  only  demons  are  supposed  to 
know.  These  ungainly  servitors  possessed  themselves 
of  the  laureate's  chafing  steeds,  and  led  them  and  the 
chariot  away  into  some  unseen  courtyard,  while  the  lau- 
reate himself,  still  saying  no  word,  kept  fast  hold  of  his 
companion's  arm,  and  hurried  him  along  a  dark  avenue 
overshadowed  with  thick  houghs  that  drooped  heavily 


i §2  "ARDATH" 

downward  to  the  ground — a  solitary  place  where  thfe  in- 
tense  quiet  was  disturbed  only  by  the  occasional  drip, 
drip  of  dewy  moisture  trickling  tearfully  from  the  leaves 
or  the  sweet,  faint,  gurgling  sound  of  fountains  playing 
somewhere  in  the  distance. 

On  they  went  for  several  paceSj  till  at  a  sharp  bend  in 
the  moss-grown  path  an  amethystine  light  broke  full  be- 
tween the  arched  green  branches.  Directly  in  front  of 
them  glimmered  a  broad  piece  of  water,  and  out  of  the 
purple- tinted  depths  rose  the  white,  nude,  lovely  form 
of  a  woman,  whose  rounded  outstretched  arms  appeared 
to  beckon  them — whose  mouth  smiled  in  mingled  malice 
and  sweetness, and  round  whose  looped-up  tresses  sparkled 
a  diadem  of  sapphire  flame.  With  a  cry  of  astonishment 
and  ecstasy  Theos  sprang  forward.  Sah-luma  held  him 
back  in  laughing  remonstrance. 

"Wilt  drown  for  a  statue's  sake?"  he  inquired  mirth- 
fully. "By  my  soul,  good  Theos,  if  thy  wits  thus  wan- 
der at  sight  of  witching  marble  nymph  illumined  by 
electric  glamours,  what  will  become  of  thee  when  thou 
art  face  to  face  with  living,  breathing  loveliness?  Come, 
thou  hot-headed  neophyte!  thou  shalt  not  waste  thy 
passion  on  images  of  stone,  I  warrant  thee!  Come  !  ' 

But  Theos  stood  still.  His  eyes  roved  from  Sah-luma 
to  the  glittering  statue  and  from  the  statue  back  again 
to  Sah-luma  in  mingled  doubt  and  dread.  A  vague  fore 
boding  rilled  his  mind;  he  fancied  that  a  bevy  of  mock- 
ing devils  peered  at  him  from  out  the  wooded  labyrinth, 
and  that  Sin  was  the  name  of  the  white  siren  j'onder, 
whose  delicate  body  seemed  to  palpitate  with  every  slow 
ripple  of  the  surrounding  waters.  He  hesitated,  with 
that  often  saving  hesitation  a  noble  spirit  may  feel  ere 
willfully  yielding  to  what  it  instinctively  knows  to  be 
wrong;  and  for  the  briefest  possible  space  an  impercep 
tible  line  was  drawn  between  his  own  self-consciousness 
and  the  fascinating  personality  of  his  lately  found  friend — 
a  line  that  parted  them  asunder  as  though  by  a  gulf  of 
centuries! 

"Sah-luma,"  he  said,  in  a    tremulous,  low    tone,  "tell 
me  truly,  is  it  good  for  us  to  be  here?" 

Sah  luma  regarded  him  in  wide-eyed  amazement. 

"Good?  good?"  he  repeated    with  a  sort    of  impatient 
disdain.      "What  dost    thou  mean    by  'good'?     What    is 


A  VIRGIN  UNSHRINED  l8j 

good?  What  is  evil?  Canst  thou  tell?  If  so,  ttiou  art 
wiser  than  I!  Good  to  be  here?  If  it  is  good  to  drown 
remembrance  of  the  world  in  draughts  of  pleasure;  if  it 
is  good  to  love  and  be  beloved;  if  it  is  good  to  enjoy, 
ay!  enjoy  with  burning  zest  every  pulsation  of  the  blood 
and  every  beat  of  the  heart,  and  to  feel  that  life  is  a  fiery 
delight,  an  exquisite  dream  of  .drained-off  rapture,  then 
it  is  good  to  be  here!  If,"  and  he  caught  Theos'  hand 
in  his  own  warm  palm  and  pressed  it,  while  his  voice 
sank  to  a  soft  and  infinitely  caressing  sweetness,  "if  it 
is  good  to  climb  the  dizzy  heights  of  joy  and  drowse 
in  the  deep  sunshine  of  amorous  eyes,  to  slip  away  on 
elfin  wings  into  the  limitless  freedom  of  love's  summer 
land,  to  rifle  rich  kisses  from  warm  lips  even  as  rosebuds 
are  rifled  from  the  parent  rose,  and  to  forget ! — to  forget 
all  bitter  things  that  are  best  forgotten — " 

"Enough,  enough,"  cried  Theos,  fired  with  a  reckless 
impulse  of  passionate  ardor.  "On,  on,  Sah-luma!  I 
follow  thee!  On!  let  us  delay  no  more!" 

At  that  moment  a  far-off  strain  of  music  saluted  his 
ears — music  evidently  played  on  stringed  instruments. 

It  was  accompanied  by  a  ringing  clash  of  cymbals. 
He  listened,  and  listening,  saw  a  smile  lighten  Sah- 
luma's  features — a  smile  sweet,  yet  full  of  delicate  mock- 
yry.  Their  eyes  m^t;  a  wanton  impetuosity  flashed  like 
reflected  flame  from  one  face  to  the  other — and  then, 
without  another  instant's  pause,  they  hurried  on. 

Across  a  broad  rose-marble  terrace  garlanded  with  a 
golden  wealth  of  orange  trees  and  odorous  oleanders,  un- 
der a  trellis  work  covered  with  magnolias  whose  half-shut 
ivory-tinted  buds  glistened  in  the  moonlight  like  large 
suspended  pearls,  then  through  a  low-roofed  stone  corri- 
dor, close  and  dim,  lit  only  by  a  few  flickering  lamps 
placed  at  far  intervals — still  on  they  went,  till  at  last, 
ascending  three  red  granite  steps  on  which  were  carved 
some  curious  hieroglyphs,  they  plunged  into  what  seemed 
to  be  a  vast  jungle  enclosed  in  some  dense  tropical  for- 
est. What  a  strange,  unsightly  thicket  of  rank  verdure 
was  here!  thought  Theos.  It  was  as  though  nature, 
grown  tired  o?  floral  beauty,  had,  in  a  sudden  malevolent 
mood,  purposely  torn  and  blurred  the  fair  gresn  frondage 
and  twisted  every  bud  awry!  Great  jagged  leaves  cov- 
ered with  prickles  and  stained  all  over  with  blotches  as 


184  "ARDATH" 

of  spilt  poison,  thick  brown  stems  glistening  with  slimy 
moisture  and  coiled  up  like  the  sleeping  bodies  of  snakes, 
masses  of  purple  and  blue  fungi,  and  blossoms,  seemingly 
of  the  orchid  species,  some  like  fleshy  tongues,  others 
like  the  waxen  yellow  fingers  of  a  dead  hand,  protruded 
spectrally  through  the  matted  foliage,  while  all  manner 
of  strange,  overpowering  odors  increased  the  swooning 
oppressiveness  of  the  sultry,  languorous  air. 

This  uncouth  botanical  garden  was  apparently  roofed  in 
by  a  lofty  glass  dome,  decorated  with  hangings  of  watery- 
green  silk,  but  the  grotesque  trees  and  plants  grew  to  so 
enormous  a  height  that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  which 
were  the  falling  draperies  and  which  the  straggling  leaves. 
Curious  birds  flew  hither  and  thither,  voiceless,  scarlet 
and  amber  winged;  a  huge  gilded  brazier  stood  in  one 
corner,  from  whence  ascended  the  constant  smoke  of 
burning  incense,  and  there  were  roses- haded  lamps  all 
about,  that  shed  a  subdued,  mysterious  luster  on  th  e 
scene,  and  bestowed  a  pale  glitter  on  a  few  fantastic 
clumps  of  arums  and  nodding  lotus-flowers  that  lazil  / 
lifted  themselves  out  of  a  greenish  pool  of  stagnant  watrr 
sunk  deeply  in  on  one  side  of  the  marble  flooring.  Theo;*, 
holding  Sah-luma's  arm,  stepped  eagerly  across  th  e 
threshold.  He  was  brimful  of  expectation;  and  what 
mattered  it  to  him  whether  the  weed-like  things  that 
grew  in  this  strange  pavilion  were  pure  or  poisonous, 
provided  he  might  look  once  more  upon  the  witching 
face  that  long  ago  had  so  sweetly  enticed  him  to  his 
ruin!  Stay!  what  was  be  thinking  of?  Long  ago?  Nay. 
that  was  impossible,  since  he  had  only  seen  the  priest- 
ess Lysia  for  the  first  time  that  very  morning.  How 
piteously  perplexing  it  was  to  be  thus  tormented  with 
these  indistinct  ideas — these  half-formed  notions  of  pre- 
vious intimate  acquaintance  with  persons  and  places  he 
never  could  have  known  before! 

All  at  once  be  drew  back  with  a  startled  exclamation! 
An  enormous  tigress,  sleek  and  jewel-eyed,  bounced  up 
from  beneath  a  tangled  mass  of  red  and  yellow  creep- 
ers, and  advanced  toward  him  with  a  low,  savaga  snarl. 

"Peace,  Aizif,  peace!"  said  Sah-luma,  carelessly  pat- 
ting the  animal's  head.  "Thou  art  wont  to  be  wiser  in 
distinguishing  'twixt  thy  friends  and  foes."  Then  turn- 
ing to  Theos  he  added:  "She  is  harmless  as  a  kitten, 


A  VIRGIN  UNSHRINKD  185 

this  poor  Aizif!  Call  her,  good  Theos — she  will  come 
to  thy  hand — see!"  and  he  smiled,  as  Theos,  not  to  be 
outdone  by  his  companion  in  physical  courage,  bent 
forward  and  stroked  the  cruel-looking  beast,  who,  while 
submitting  to  his  caress,  never  for  a  moment  ceased  her 
smothered  snarling.  Presently,  however,  she  was  seized 
with  a  sudden  fit  of  savage  playfulness,  and  throwing 
herself  on  the  ground  before  him,  she  rolled  her  lithe 
body  to  and  fro  with  brief,  thirsty  roars  of  satisfaction — 
roars  that  echoed  through  the  whole  pavilion  with  ter- 
rific resonance;  then  rising,  she  shook  herself  vigorously, 
and  commenced  a  stealthy,  velvet-footed  pacing  up  and 
down,  lashing  her  tail  from  side  to  side,  and  keeping 
those  sly  emerald  like  eyes  of  hers  watchfully  fixed  on 
Sah-luma,  who  merely  laughed  at  her  fierce  antics.  Lean- 
ing against  one  of  the  dark  gnarled  trees,  he  tapped  his 
sandaled  foot  with  some  impatience  on  the  marble  pave- 
ment, while  Theos,  standing  close  beside  him,  wondered 
whether  the  mysterious  Lysia  knew  of  their  arrival. 

Sah-luma  appeared  to  guess  his  thoughts,  for    he    an- 
swered them  as  though  the)7  had  been  spoken  aloud. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "she  knows  we  are  here;  she  knew  the 
instant  we  entered  her  gates.  Nothing  is  or  can  be 
hidden  from  her!  He  who  would  have  secrets  must  depart 
out  of  Al  Kyris  and  find  some  other  city  to  dwell  in, 
for  here  he  shall  be  unable  to  keep  even  his  own  coun- 
sel. To  Lysia  all  things  are  made  manifest;  she  reads 
human  nature  as  one  reads  an  open  scroll,  and  with 
merciless  analysis  she  judges  men  as  being  very  poor 
creatures,  limited  in  their  capabilities,  disappointing  and 
monotonous  in  their  passions,  unproductive  and  circum 
scribed  in  their  destinies.  To  her  ironical  humor  and 
icy  wit  the  wisest  sages  seem  fools;  she  probes  them  to 
the  core,  and  discovers  all  their  weaknesses;  she  has  no 
trust  in  virtue,  no  belief  in  honesty.  And  she  is  right! 
Who  but  a  madman  would  be  honest  in  these  days  of 
competition  and  greed  of  gain?  And  as  for  virtue,  'tis 
a  pretty  icicle  that  melts  at  the  first  touch  of  a  hot  temp- 
tation !  Ay,  the  Virgin  Priestess  of  Nagaya  hath  a 
rr  ost  profound  comprehension  of  mankind's  immeasurable 
brute  stupidity;  and,  strong  in  this  knowledge,  she  gov- 
erns the  multitude  with  iron  will,  intellectual  force  and 
dictative  firmness.  When  she  dies  I  know  not  what  will 
happen. " 


I&6  "ARDATH* 

Here  he  interrupted  himeslf,  and  a  dark  shadow  crossed 
his  brows.  "By  my  soul!"  he  muttered,  "how  this 
thought  of  death  haunts  me  like  the  unburied  corpse  of 
a  slain  foe!  I  would  there  were  no  such  thing  as  death. 
'Tis  a  crusl  and  wanton  sport  of  the  gods  to  give  us  life 
at  all  if  life  must  end  so  utterly  and  so  soon!" 

He  sighed  deeply.  Theos  echoed  the  sigh,  but  an- 
swered nothing.  At  that  moment  the  restless  Aizif  gave 
another  appalling  roar,  and  pounced  swiftly  toward  the 
eastern  side  of  the  pavilion,  where  a  large  painted  panel 
could  be  dimly  discerned,  the  subject  of  the  painting 
being  a  hideous  idol,  whose  long,  half-shut,  inscrutable 
eyes  leered  through  the  surrounding  foliage  with  an  ex- 
pression of  hateful  cunning  and  malevolence.  In  front 
of  this  panel  the  tigress  lay  down,  licking  the  pavement 
thirstily  from  time  to  time  and  giving  vent  to  short 
purring  sounds  of  impatience.  Then  all  suddenly  she  rose 
with  ears  pricked,  in  an  attitude  of  attention.  The  panel 
slowly  moved;  it  glided  back,  and  the  great  brute  leaped 
forward,  flinging  her  two  soft  paws  on  the  shoulders  of 
the  figure  that  appeared — the  figure  of  a  woman,  who, 
clad  in  glistening  gold  from  head  to  foot,  shone  in  the 
dark  aperture  like  a  gilded  image  in  a  shrine  of  ebony. 
Theos  beheld  the  brilliant  apparition  in  some  doubt  and 
wonder.  Was  this  Lysia?  He  could  not  see  her  face, 
as  she  wore  a  thick  white  veil  through  which  only  the 
faintest  sparkle  of  dark  eyes  glimmered  like  flickering 
sunbeams;  nor  was  he  able  to  discern  the  actual  outline 
of  her  form,  as  it  was  completely  enveloped  and  lost  in 
the  wide,  shapeless  folds  of  her  stiff  golden  gown.  Yet 
every  nerve  in  his  body  thrilled  at  her  presence — every 
drop  of  blood  seemed  to  rush  from  his  heart  to  his  brain 
in  a  svv'ift,  scorching  torrent  that  for  a  second  blinded 
his  eyes  with  a  red  glare  and  made  him  faint  and  giddy. 

Woman  and  tigress!  They  looked  strangely  alike,  he 
thought,  as  they  stood  mutually  caressing  each  other 
under  the  great  drooping  masses  of  fantastic  leaves.  Yet, 
where  was  the  resemblance?  What  possible  similarity 
could  there  be  between  a  tawny,  treacherous  brute  of  the 
forests,  full  of  sly  malice  and  voracious  cruelty,  and  that 
dazzling,  gold-garmented  creature,  whose  small  white 
hand,  flashing  with  jewels,  now  tenderly  smoothed  the 
black  silken  stripes  on  the  sleek  coat  of  her  savage  fa- 
vorite? 


A  VIRGIN  UNSHRINED  187 

"Down,  sweet  Aizif,  down!"  she  said  in  a  grave,  dulcet 
voice,  as  softly  languorous  as  the  last  note  of  a  love  song. 
"Down,  my  gentle  one!  thou  art  too  fond.  Down!  So!" — 
this  as  the  tigress  instantly  removed  its  embracing 
paws  from  her  neck,  and,  trembling  in  every  limb, 
crouched  on  the  ground  in  abjectly  submissive  obedience. 
Another  moment  and  she  advanced  leisurely  into  the 
pavilion,  Aizif  slinking  stealthily  along  beside  her  and 
Deeming  to  imitate  her  graceful,  gliding  movements,  till 
she  stood  within  a  few  pace;  of  Theos  and  Sah-luma, 
just  near  the  spot  where  the  lotus-flowers  swayed  over 
the  grass-green  stagnant  pool.  There  she  paused,  and 
apparently  scrutinized  her  visitors  intently  through  the 
folds  of  her  snowy  veil.  Sah-luma  bent  his  head  before 
her  in  a  half-haughty,  half-humble  salutation. 

"The  tardy  Sah-luma!"  she  said,  with  an  under-current 
of  laughter  in  her  musical  tones — "the  poet  who  loves  the 
flattery  of  a  foolish  king,  and  the  applause  of  a  still  more 
foolish  court!  And  so  Khosrul  disturbed  the  flood  of 
thine  inspiration  to-night,  good  minstrel?  Nay,  for  that 
he  should  die,  if  for  no  other  crime!  And  this" — here 
she  turned  her  veiled  features  toward  Theos,  whose  heart 
beat  furiously  as  he  caught  a  luminous  flash  from  those 
half-hidden,  brilliant  eyes — "this  is  the  unwitting  stranger 
who  honored  me  by  so  daring  a  scrutiny  this  morning! 
Verily  thou  hast  a  singularly  venturesome  spirit  of  thine 
own,  fair  sir!  Still,  we  must  honor  courage,  even  though 
it  border  on  rashness,  and  I  rejoice  to  see  that  the  wrath- 
ful mob  of  Al-Kyris  hath  yet  left  thee  man  enough  to 
deserve  my  welcome!  Nevertheless,  thou  wert  guilty  of 
most  heinous  presumption!"  Here  she  extended  her  jew- 
eled hand.  "Art  thou  repentant?  and  wilt  thou  sue  for 
pardon?" 

Scarcely  conscious  of  what  he  did,  Theos  approached 
her,  and  kneeling  on  one  knee,  took  that  fair,  soft  hand 
in  his  own  and  kissed  it  with  passionate  fervor. 

"Criminal  as  I  am,"  he  murmured  tremulously,  "1 
glory  in  my  crime,  nor  will  I  seek  forgiveness.  Nay, 
rather  will  I  plead  with  thee  that  I  may  sin  so  sweet  a 
sin  again,  and  blind  m)'self  with  beauty  unreproved!" 

Slowly  she  withdrew  her  fingers  from  his  clasp. 

"Thou  art  bold!"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  indolent 
amusement  i.rj  her  accents.  "But  in  thy  boldness  there 


i 88  "ARDATH" 

is  something  of  the  hero.  Knowest  thou  not  that  I,  Lysia, 
high  priestess  of  Nagaya,  could  have  thee  straightway 
slain  for  that  unwise  speech  of  thine — unwise  because 
over-hasty  and  somewhat  over-familiar.  Yes,  I  could  hava 
thee  slain!"  and  she  laughed,  a  rippling  little  laugh  like 
that  of  a  pleased  child.  "Howbeit  thou  shalt  not  die 
this  time  for  thy  fool  hardiness;  thy  looks  are  too  much 
in  thy  favor!  Thou  art  like  Sah-luma  in  his  noblest 
moods,  when  tired  of  versS-stringing  and  sonnet  chanting 
he  condescends  to  remember  that  he  is  not  quite  divine! 
See  how  he  chafes  at  that!"  and  plucking  a  lotus  bud 
she  threw  it  playfully  at  the  laureate,  whose  handsome 
face  flushed  vexedly  at  her  words.  "An*  thou  art  prudent, 
Sir  Theos — do  I  not  pronounce  thy  name  aptly — thou 
wilt  be  less  petulant  than  he,  and  less  absorbed  in  self- 
adoration,  for  here  men — even  poets — are  deemed  no  more 
than  men,  and  their  constant  querulous  claim  to  be  con- 
sidered as  demi-god,  meets  with  no  acceptance!  Wilt 
'blind  thyself  with  beauty'  as  thou  say'st?  Well  then, 
lose  thine  eyes,  but  guard  thy  heart  " 

And  with  a  careless  movement  she  loosened  her  veil; 
it  fell  from  her  like  a  soft  cloud,  and  Theos,  springing 
to  his  feet,  gazed  upon  her  with  a  sense  of  enraptured 
bewilderment  and  passionate  pain.  It  was  as  though  he 
saw  the  wraith  of  some  fair  dead  woman  he  had  loved  of 
old,  risen  anew  to  redemand  from  him  his  former  alle- 
giance. O  unfamiliar  yet  well  known  face!  O  slumbrous 
starry  eyes  that  seemed  to  hold  the  memory  of  a  thou- 
sand love-thoughts!  O  sweet  curved  lips  whereon  a  de- 
licious smile  rested  as  softly  as  sunlight  on  young  rose 
petals!  Where — where,  in  God's  name — had  he  seen 
all  this  marvelous,  witching,  maddening  loveliness  bf- 
fort?  His  heart  beat  with  heavy,  laboring  thuds,  his 
brain  reeled,  a  dim,  golden,  suffused  radiance  seemed  to 
hover  like  an  aureole  above  that  dazzling  white  brow 
adorned  with  a  clustering  wealth  of  raven  black  tresses 
whose  massive  coils  were  crowned  with  the  strangest 
sort  of  diadem — a  wreath  of  small  serpents'  heads  cun- 
ningly fashioned  in  rubies  and  rose  brilliants,  and  set 
in  such  a  manner  that  they  appeared  to  lift  themselves 
erect  from  out  the  dusky  hair  as  though  in  darting  read- 
iness to  sting.  Full  of  a  vague,  wild  longing,  he  instinc- 
tively stretched  out  his  arms;  then  on  a  sudden  impulse 


A   VIRGIN   UNSHRINED  I&9 

turned  swiftly  away,  in  a  dizzy  effort  to  escape  from  the 
basilisk  fire-gleam  of  those  somber,  haunting  eyes  that 
plunged  into  his  inmost  soul,  and  there  aroused  such 
dark  desires,  such  retrospective  evil,  such  wild  weakness 
as  shamed  the  betterness  of  his  nature?  Sah-luma's  clear, 
mocking  laugh  just  then  rang  sharply  through  the  per 
fumed  stillness. 

'Thou  mad  Theos  I  Whither  art  thou  bound?"  cried 
the  laureate  mirthfully.  "Wilt  leave  our  noble  hostess 
ere  the  entertainment  has  begun?  Ungallant  barbarian! 
What  frenzy  possesses  thee?" 

These  woxds  recalled  him  to  himself.  He  came  back 
slowly  step  oy  step,  and  with  bowed  head,  to  where 
Lysia  stood — Lysia,  whose  penetrating  gaze  still  rested 
upon  him  with  strangely  fixed  intensity. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  unsteady  voice  that 
to  his  own  ears  sounded  full  of  suppressed  yet  passion- 
ate appeal.  "Forgive  me,  lady,  that  for  one  moment  I 
have  seemed  discourteous.  I  am  not  so,  in  very  truth. 
Sad  fancies  fret  my  brain  at  times,  and — and  there  is 
that  within  thine  unveiled  beauty  which  sword-like 
wounds  my  soul!  I  am  not  joyous-natured.  Unlike 
Sah-luma,  chosen  favorite  of  fortune,  I  have  lost  all,  a.ll 
that  made  my  life  once  seem  fair.  I  am  dead  to  those 
that  loved  me,  forgotten  by  those  that  honored  me,  a 
wanderer  in  strange  lands,  a  solitary  wayfarer  perplexed 
with  many  griefs  to  which  I  cannot  give  a  name!  Never- 
theless," and  he  drew  a  quick,  hard  breath,  "if  I  may 
serve  thee,  fairest  Lysia,  as  Sah  luma  serves  thee,  sub- 
ject to  thy  sovereign  favor,  thou  shalt  not  find  me  lack- 
ing in  obedience!  Command  me  as  thou  wilt;  let  me 
efface  myself  to  worship  thee!  Let  me,if  it  be  possible, 
drown  thought,  slay  memory,  murder  conscience,  so  that 
I  may  once  more,  as  in  the  old  time,  be  glad  with  the 
gladness  that  only  love  can  give,  and  only  death  can  take 
a\vay !" 

As  he  finished  this  unpremeditated,  uncontrollable  out- 
burst his  eyes  wistfully  sought  hers.  She  met  his  look 
\vith  a  languid  indifference  and  a  half  disdainful  smile. 
. "Enough  !  Restrain  thine  ardor!"  she  said  coldly,  her 
dirk,  dilating  orbs  shining  like  steel  beneath  the  velvet 
softness  of  her  long  lashes.  "Thou  dost  speak  ignorantly, 
unknowing  what  thy  words  involve — words  to  which  1 


tgd  "ARDATH" 

well  might  bind  thee,  were  I  less  forbearing  to  thine 
inconsiderate  rashness.  How  like  all  men  thou  art!  How 
keen  to  plunge  into  unfathomed  deeps,  merely  to  snatch 
the  pearl  of  present  pleasure!  How  martyr-seeming  in 
thy  fancied  sufferings,  as  though  thy  litile  wave  of  per- 
sonal sorrow  swamped  the  world!  O  wondrous  human 
egotism!  that  sees  but  one  great  absolute  T  sera v, led  on 
the  face  of  Nature!  T  am  afflicted,  let  none  dare  to 
rejoice!  T  would  be  glad,  let  none  presume  to  grieve!" 
She  laughed,  a  little  low,  laugh  of  icy  satire,  and  then 
resumed:  "I  thank  thee  for  thy  proffered  service,  Sir 
Stranger,  albeit  I  need  it  not,  nor  do  I  care  to  claim  it 
at  thy  hands.  Thou  art  my  guest — no  more.  Whether 
thou  wilt  hereafter  deserve  to  be  enrolled  my  bondsman 
depends  upon  thy  prowess  and — my  humor!" 

Her  beautiful  eyes  flashed  scornfully,  and  there  was 
something  cruel  in  her  glance.  Theos  felt  it  sting  him 
like  a  sharp  blow.  His  nerves  quivered;  his  spitit  rose 
in  arms  against  the  cynical  hauteur  of  this  woman  whom 
he  loved;  yes — loved,  with  a  curious  sense  of  revived 
passion — passion  that  seemed  to  have  slept  in  a  tcmb  for 
ages  and  that  now  suddenly  sprang  into  life  and  being, 
like  a  fire  kindled  anew  on  dead  ashes. 

Acting  on  a  sudden,  proud  impulse  he  raised  his  head 
and  looked  at  her  with  a  bold  steadfastness,  a  critical 
scrutiny,  a  calmly  discriminating  valuation  of  her  phys- 
ical charms  that  for  the  moment  certainly  appeared  to 
startle  her  self  possession,  for  a  deep  flush  colored  the 
fairness  of  her  face  and  then  faded,  leaving  her  pale  as 
marble.  Her  emotion,  whatever  it  was,  lasted  but  a 
second,  yet  in  that  second  he  had  measured  his  mental 
strength  against  hers,  and  had  become  aware  cf  his  own 
supremacy!  This  consciousness  filled  him  with  peculiar 
satisfaction.  He  drew  a  long  breath  like  one  narrowly 
escaped  from  close  peril.  He  had  now  no  fear  of  hei 
— only  a  great,  all-absorbing,  all-evil  love,  and  to  that  he 
was  recklessly  content  to  yield.  Her  eyes  dwelt  glit- 
teringly  first  upon  him  and  then  on  Sah-luma,  as  the 
eyes  of  a  falcon  dwell  on  his  prey,  and  her  smile  was 
touched  with  a  little  malice,  as  she  said,  addressing  them 
both: 

"Come,  fair  sirs!  we  will  not  linger  in  Ihis  wilderness 
ef  wild  flowers.  A  feast  awaits  us  yonder,  a  feast  pre- 


A  VIRGIN  UNSHRINED  XQ? 

pared  for  those  who,  like  yourselves,  obey  the  creed  of 
sweat  self-indulgence — the  world-wide  creed  wherein 
men  find  no  fault,  no  shadow  of  inconsistency!  The 
cruest  wisdom  is  to  enjoy — the  only  philosophy  that 
which  teaches  us  how  best  to  gratify  our  own  desires! 
Delight  cannot  satiate  the  soul,  nor  mirth  engender 
weariness!  Follow  me!"  and  with  a  lithe  movement  she 
swept  toward  the  door,  her  pet  tigress  creeping  closely 
after  her.  Then  suddenly  looking  back,  she  darted  a  lus- 
trously caressing  glance  over  her  shoulder  at  Sah-luma 
and  stretched  out  her  hand  He  at  once  caught  it  in 
his  own  and  kissed  it  with  an  almost  brusque  eagerness. 

"I  thought  you  had  forgotten  me!"  he  murmured  in  a 
vexed,  half-reproachful  tone. 

"Forgotten  you?  Forgotten  Sah-luma?  Impossible!" 
and  her  silvery  laughter  shook  the  air  into  little  throbs 
of  music.  "When  the  greatest  poet  of  the  age  is  forgot- 
ten, then  fall,  Al-Kyris!  for  there  shall  be  no  more  need 
of  kingdoms!" 

Laughing  still  and  allowing  her  hand  to  remain  in  his, 
she  passed  out  of  the  pavilion,  and  Theos  followed  them 
both  as  a  man  might  follow  the  beckoning  sylphs  in  a 
fair)'  dream. 

A  mellow,  luminous,  witch-like  radiance  seemed  to 
surround  them  as  they  went — two  dazzling  figures  gliding 
on  before  him  with  the  slow,  light  grace  of  moonbeams 
flitting  over  a  smooth  ocean.  They  seemed  made  for  each 
other — he  could  not  separate  them  in  his  thoughts;  but 
the  strangest  part  of  the  matter  was  the  feeling  he  had 
that  he  himself  somehow  belonged  to  them  and  they  to 
him.  His  ideas  on  the  subject,  however,  were  very  in- 
definite; he  was  in  a  condition  of  more  or  less  absolute 
passiveness,  save  when  strong  shudders  of  grief,  memory, 
remorse,  or  roused  passion  shook  him  with  sudden  force, 
like  a  storm-blast  shaking  some  melancholy  cypress  whose 
roots  are  in  a  grave.  He  mused  on  Lysia's  scornful 
words  with  a  perplexed  pain.  Was  he  then  so  selfish? 
"The  one  great  absolute  T  scrawled  on  the  face  of  na- 
ture!" Could  that  apply  to  him?  Surely  not,  since  in 
his  present  state  of  mind  he  could  hardly  lay  claim  to 
any  distinct  personality,  seeing  that  that  personality  was 
iorever  merging  itself  and  getting  lost  in  the  more 
ciearly  perfect  identity  of  Sah-luma/  whom  he  regarded 


19*  "ARDATH" 

with  a  species  of  profound  hero-worship,  such  as  one 
man  seldom  feels  for  another.  To  call  himself  a  poet 
uow  seemed  the  acme  of  absurdity.  How  should  such 
an  one  as  he  attempt  to  conquer  fame  with  a  rival  like 
Sah-luma  already  in  the  field  and  already  supremely  vic- 
torious? 

Full  of  these  fancies,  he  scarcely  heeded  the  wonders 
through  which  he  passed,  as  he  followed  his  two  radiant 
guides  along.  His  eyes  were  tired,  and  rested  almost 
indifferently  on  the  magnificence  that  everywhere  sur- 
rounded him,  though  here  and  there  certain  objects 
attracted  his  attention  as  being  curiously  familiar.  These 
lofty  corridors,  gorgeously  frescoed;  these  splendid 
groups  of  statuary;  these  palm-shaded  nooks  of  verdure, 
where  imprisoned  nightingales  warbled  plaintive  songs 
that  were  all  the  sweeter  for  their  sadness ;  these  spa- 
cious marble  loggie,  cooled  by  the  rising  and  falling  spray 
.of  myriad  fountains — did  he  not  dimly  recognize  all  these 
things?  He  thought  so,  yet  was  not  sure,  for  he  had 
arrived  at  a  pass  when  he  could  rely  on  neither  his  rea- 
son nor  his  memory.  Naught  of  deeper  humiliation  could 
he  have  than  this,  to  feel  within  himself  that  he  was 
still  an  intellectual,  thinking,  sentient  human  being, 
and  that  yet,  at  the  same  time,  his  intelligence  could  do 
nothing  to  extricate  him  from  the  terrific  mystery  which 
had  engulfed  him  like  a  huge  flood,  and  wherein  he  w^s 
tossed  to  and  fro  as  helplessly  as  a  floating  straw. 

On,  still  on  he  went,  treading  closely  in  Sah-luma  s 
footsteps,  and  wistfully  noting  how  often  the  myrtle- 
garlanded  head  of  his  friend  drooped  caressingly  toward 
Lysia's  dusky,  perfumed  locks,  whence  those  jeweled 
serpents'  fangs  darted  flashingly  upward  like  light  from 
darkness.  On,  still  on,  till  at  last  he  found  himself  in 
a  grand  vestibule,  built  entirely  of  sparkling  red  granite. 
Here  were  ten  sphinxes,  so  huge  in  form  that  a  dozen 
men  might  have  lounged  at  ease  on  each  one  cJ  their 
enormous  paws;  they  were  ranged  in  rows  of  five  on 
each  side,  and  their  coldly  meditative  eyes  appeared  to 
dwell  steadfastly  on  the  polished  face  of  a  large  black 
disk  placed  conspicuously  on  a  pedestal  in  the  exact  cen- 
ter of  the  pavement.  Strange  letters  shone  from  time  to 
time  on  this  ebony  tablet,  letters  that  seemed  to  be  writ- 
ten in  quicksilver;  they  glittered  for  a  second,  then  ran 


A  VIRGIN   UNSHRINED  193 

a¥  like  phosphorescent  drops  of  water,  and  again  reap- 
peared, but  the  same  signs  were  never  repeated  twice 
over.  All  were  different,  all  were  rapid  in  their  coming 
and  going  as  flashes  of  lightning.  Lysia,  approaching 
the  disk,  turned  it  slightly.  At  her  touch  it  revolved 
like  a  flying  wheel,  and  for  a  brief  space  was  literally 
covered  with  mysterious  characters,  which  the  beautiful 
priestess  perused  with  an  apparent  air  of  satisfaction. 
All  at  once  the  fiery  writing  vanished ;  the  disk  was  left 
black  and  bare,  and  then  a  silver  ball  fell  suddenly  upon 
it,  with  a  clang,  from  some  unseen  height,  and,  roll- 
ing off  again,  instantly  disappeared.  At  the  same  moment 
a  harsh  voice,  rising  as  it  were  from  the  deepest  under- 
ground, chanted  the  following  words  in  a  monotonous 
recitative: 

"Fall,  O  thou  lost  Hour,  into  the  dreadful  Past!  Sink, 
O  thou  Pearl  of  Time,  into  the  dark  and  fathomless  abyss! 
Not  all  the  glory  of  kings  or  the  wealth  of  empires  can 
purchase  thee  back  again!  Not  all  the  strength  of  war- 
riors or  the  wisdom  of  sages  can  draw  thee  forth  from 
the  Abode  of  Silence  whither  thou  art  fled !  Farewell, 
lost  Hour!  and  may  the  gods  defend  us  from  thy  re- 
proach at  the  Day  of  Doom!  In  the  name  of  the  Sun 
and  Nagaya — Peace!" 

The  voice  died  away  in  a  muffled  echo,  and  the  slow, 
solemn  boom  of  a  brazen-tongued  bell  struck  midnight. 
Then  Theos,  raising  his  eyes,  saw  that  all  further  prog- 
ress was.  impeded  by  a  great  wall  of  solid  rock  that 
glistened  at  every  point  with  flashes  of  pale  and  dark  vio- 
let light — a  wall  composed  entirely  of  adamantine  spar, 
crusted  thick  with  the  rough  growth  of  oriental  amethyst. 
It  rose  sheer  up  from  the  ground  to  an  altitude  of  about 
a  hundred  feet,  and  apparently  closed  in  and  completed 
the  vestibule. 

Surely  there  was  no  passing  through  such  a  barrier  as 
this?  he  thought  wonderingly.  Nevertheless  Lysia  and 
Sah-luma  still  went  on,  and  he,  as  perforce  he  was  com- 
pelled, still  followed.  Arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  huge 
erection  that  towered  above  him  like  a  steep  cliff  of 
molten  gems,  he  fancied  he  heard  a  faint  sound  behind 
it  as  of  clinking  glasses  and  boisterous  laughter;  but 
before  he  had  time  to  consider  what  this  might  mean, 
Lysia  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  a  small,  protruding  knob 


194  "ARDATH" 

of  crystal,  pressed  it — and    lo!  the  whole  massive  struc- 
ture yawned  open  suddenly  without  any  noise,  suspending 
itself  as  it  were  in  sparkling  festoons    of    purple  stalcc 
tites  over  the  voluptuously  magnificent  scene  disclosed. 

At  first  it  was  difficult  to  discern  more  than  a  gorgeous 
maze  of  swaying  light  and  color,  as  though  a  great  field 
of  tulips  in  full  bloom  should  be  seen  waving  to  and  fro 
in  the  breath  of  a  soft  wind;  but  gradually  this  bewil- 
dering dazzle  of  gold  and  green,  violet  and  crimson,  re- 
solved itself  into  definite  form  and  substance,  and  Theos, 
standing  beside  his  two  companions  on  the  elevated 
threshold  of  the  partition  through  which  they  had  en- 
tered, was  able  to  look  down  and  survey  with  tolerable 
composure  the  wondrous  details  of  the  glittering  picture — 
a  picture  that  looked  like  a  fairy-fantasy  poised  in  a 
haze  of  jewel  like  radiance  as  of  vaporized  sapphire.  ' 

He  saw  beneath  him  a  vast  circular  hall  or  amphithe- 
ater, roofed  in  by  a  lofty  dome  of  richest  n  alachite, 
from  the  center  of  which  was  suspended  a  huge  globe 
of  fire,  that  revolved  with  incredible  swiftness,  flinging 
vivid  blood-red  rays  on  the  amber-colored  silken  carpets 
and  embroideries  that  strewed  the  floor  below.  The 
dome  was  supported  by  rows  upon  rows  of  tall,  taper- 
ing, crystal  columns,  clear  as  translucent  water  and 
green  as  the  grass  in  spring,  and  between  and  beyond 
these  columns  on  the  left-hand  side  there  were  large 
oval-shaped  casements  set  wide  open  to  the  night, 
through  which  the  gleam  of  a  broad  lake  laden  with 
water-lilies  could  be  seen  shimmering  in  the  yellow  moon. 
The  middle  of  the  hall  was  occupied  by  a  long  table 
covered  with  draperies  of  gold,  white,  and  green,  and 
heaped  with  all  the  costly  accessories  of  a  sumptuous 
banquet  such  as  might  have  been  spread  before  the  gcds 
of  Olympus  in  the  full  height  of  their  legendary  prin:e. 
Here  were  the  lovely  hues  of  heaped-up  fruit,  the  tender 
bloom  of  scattered  flowers,  the  glisten  of  jeweled  flagons 
and  goblets,  the  flash  of  massive  gold  dishes  carried  aloft 
by  black  slaves  attired  in  white  and  crimson,  the  red 
glow  of  poured-out  wine;  and  here,  in  the  drowsy  warmth, 
lounging  on  divans  of  velvet  and  embroidered  satin, 
eating,  drinking,  idly  gossiping,  loudly  laughing,  and 
occasionally  bursting  into  wild  anthems  of  song,  were  a 
company  of  brilliant-looking  personages — all  men,  all 


A  VIRGIN  UNSHRINED  IQ5 

young,  all  handsome,  all  richly  clad,  and  all  evidently 
bent  on  enjoying  the  pleasures  offered  by  the  immediate 
hour.  Suddenly,  however,  their  noisy  voices  ceased ; 
with  one  accord,  as  though  drawn  by  some  magnetic 
spell,  they  all  turned  their  heads  toward  the  platform 
where  Lysia  had  just  silently  made  her  appearance,  and 
springing  from  their  seats  they  broke  into  a  boisterous 
shout  of  acclamation  and  welcome.  One  young  man, 
whose  flushed  face  had  all  the  joyous,  wanton,  effeminate 
beauty  of  a  pictured  Dionysius,  reeled  forward,  goblet  in 
hand,  and  tossing  the  wine  in  air  so  that  it  splashed 
down  again  at  his  feet,  staining  his  white  garments  as 
it  fell  with  a  stain  as  of  blood,  he  cried  tipsily: 

"All  hail,  Lysia!  Where  hast  thou  wandered  so  long, 
thou  Goddess  of  Morn?  We  have  been  lost  in  the  black- 
ness of  night,  sunk  in  the  depths  of  a  hell-like  gloom, 
but  lo!  now  the  clouds  have  broken  in  the  east,  and  our 
hearts  rejoice  at  the  birth  of  day!  Vanish,  dull  moon, 
and  be  ashamed!  for  a  fairer  planet  rules  the  sky!  Hence, 
ye  stars!  puny  glow-worms  lazily  crawling  in  the  fields 
of  ether!  Lysia  invests  the  heaven  and  earth,  and  in 
her  smile  we  live!  Ha!  art  thou  there,  Sah-luma?  Come, 
praise  me  for  my  improvised  love-lines;  they  are  as 
good  as  thine,  I  warrant  thee!  Canst  compose  when  thou 
art  drunk,  my  dainty  laureate?  Drain  a  cup  then,  and 
sing  me  a  stanza!  Where  is  thy  fool  Zabastes?  I  would 
fain  tickle  his  long  ears  with  ribald  rhyme,  and  hearken 
to  the  barbarous  braying  forth  of  his  asinine  reflections! 
Lysia!  what,  Lysia!  dost  thou  frown  at  me?  Frown 
not,  sweet  queen,  but  rather  laugh!  thy  laughter  kills, 
'tis  true,  but  thy  frown  doth  torture  spirits  after  death! 
Unbend  thy  brows!  Night  looms  between  them  like  a 
chaos!  we  will  have  no  more  night,  I  say,  but  only  noon — 
a  long,  languorous,  lovely  noon,  flower-girdled  and  sun- 
beam-clad ! 

"With  roses,  roses,  roses  crown  my  head, 

For  ray  days  are  few! 
And  remember,  sweet,  when  I  am  dead, 

That  my  heart  was  true!" 

Singing  unsteadily,  with  the  empty  goblet  upside  down 
in  his  hand,  he  looked  up  laughing,  his  bright  eyes  flash- 
ing  with  a  wild,  feverish  fire,  his  fair  hair  tossed  back 
from  his  brows  and  entangled  in  a  half-crushed  wreath 


196  "ARDATH* 

of  vine-leaves,  his  rich  garments  disordered,  his  whole 
demeanor  that  of  one  possessed  by  a  semi-delirium  of 
sensuous  pleasure,  when  all  at  once,  meeting  Lysia's  keen 
glance,  he  started  as  though  he  had  been  suddenly  stabbed, 
the  goblet  fell  from  his  clasp,  and  a  visible  shudder  ran 
through  his  strong,  supple  frame.  The  low,  cold,  merci- 
less laughter  of  the  beautiful  priestess  cut  through  the 
air  hissingly  like  the  sweep  of  a  scimitar. 

"Thou  art  wondrous  merry,  Nir-jalis, "  she  said,  in  lan- 
guid, lazily  enunciated  accents.  "Knowest  thou  not  that 
too  much  mirth  engenders  weeping,  and  that  excessive 
rejoicing  hath  its  fitting  end  in  grievous  lamentation? 
Nay,  even  now  already  thou  lookest  more  sadly!  What 
somber  cloud  has  crossed  thy  wine-hued  heaven?  Be 
happy  while  thou  mayest,  gcod  fool!  I  blame  thee.  not! 
Sooner  or  later  all  things  must  end!  In  the  meantime, 
make  thou  the  most  of  life  while  life  remains.  'Tis  at 
best  an  uncertain  heritage,  that  once  rashly  squan- 
dered can  never  be  restored,  either  here  or  hereafter." 

The  words  were  gently,  almost  tenderly,  spoken;  but 
Nir-jalis,  hearing  them,  grew  white  as  death — his  smile 
faded,  leaving  his  lips  set  and  stern  as  the  lips  of  a  mar- 
ble mask.  Stooping,  he  raised  his  fallen  goblet  ard  held 
it  out  almost  mechanically  to  a  passing  slave,  who  re- 
filled it  with  wine,  which  he  drank  off  thirstily  at  a 
draught,  though  the  generous  liquid  brought  no  color 
back  to  his  drawn  and  ashy  features. 

Lysia  paid  no  further  heed  to  his  evident  discomfiture. 
Bidding  Sah-luma  and  Theos  follow  her,she  descended  the 
few  steps  that  led  from  the  raised  platform  into  the 
body  of  the  brilliant  hall.  The  rocky  screen  of  amethyst 
closed  behind  her  as  noiselessly  as  it  had  opened,  and 
in  another  moment  she  stood  among  her  assembled 
guests,  who  at  once  surrounded  her  with  eager  sah  tations 
and  gracefully  worded  flatteries.  Smiling  on  tl  cm  ?11 
with  that  strange  smile  of  hers  that  was  more  scornful 
than  sweet,  and  yet  so  infinitely  bewitching,  she  said  little 
in  answer  to  their  greetings — she  moved  as  a  queen  moves 
through  a  crowd  of  courtiers,  the  varied  light  of  crimson 
and  green  playing  about  her  like  so  many  sparkles  of 
living  flame,  her  dark  head,  wreathed  with  those  jru  elcd 
serpents,  lifting  itself  proudly  erect  from  her  muffling 
golden  mantle,  and  her  eyes  shining  with  that  frosty 


4  VIRGIN  UN  SHRINED  I  $7 

gisara  of  mockery  which  made  them  look  so  lustrous  yet 
so  cold.  And  now  Theos  perceived  that  at  one  end  of 
the  splendid  banquet-table  a  dais  was  erected,  draped 
richly  in  carnation  colored  silk,  and  that  on  this  dais  a 
ihrone  was  placed — a  throne  composed  entirely  of  black 
crystals,  whose  needle  like  points  sparkled  with  a  dark 
flash  as  of  bayonets  seen  through  the  smoke  of  battle. 
It  was  cushioned  in  black  velvet,  and  above  it  was  a  bent 
arch  of  ivory  on  which  glittered  a  twisted  snake  of  clus- 
Jtred  emeralds. 

With  that  slow,  superb  ease  that  distinguished  all  her 
actions,  Lysia,  attended  closely  by  her  tigress,  mounted 
the  dais,  and  as  she  did  so  a  loud  clash  of  brazen  bells 
rang  out  from  some  invisible  turret  beyond  the  summit 
of  the  grsat  donu.  At  the  sound  of  the  jangling  chime 
four  negrvjiises  appeared — goblin  creatures  that  looked  as 
though  th^y  had  suddenly  sprung  from  some  sooty  sub- 
terranean region  of  gnomes — and  humbly  prostrating 
themselves  before  Lysia,  kissed  the  ground  at  her 
feet.  This  dons,  they  rose,  and  began  to  undo  the  fast- 
enings of  her  golden,  domino-like  garment;  but  either 
they  were  slow,  or  the  fair  priestess  was  impatient,  for 
she  suddenly  shook  herself  free  of  their  hands,  and,  loos- 
ening the  gorgeous  mantle  herself  from  its  jeweled  clasps, 
it  fell  slowly  from  her  symmetrical  form  on  the  perfumed 
floor  with  a  rustle  as  of  falling  leaves. 

A  sigh  quivered  audibly  through  the  room — whether 
of  grief,  joy,  hope,  relief,  or  despair,  it  was  difficult  to 
tell.  The  pride  and  peril  of  a  matchless  loveliness  was 
revealed  in  all  its  fatal  seductiveness  and  invincible 
strength,  the  irresistible  perfection  of  woman's  beauty 
was  openly  displayed  to  bewilder  the  sight  and  rouse  the 
reckless  passions  of  man!  Who  could  look  on  such 
delicate,  dangerous,  witching  charms  unmoved?  Who 
could  gaze  on  the  exquisite  outlines  of  a  form  fairer  than 
that  of  any  sculptured  Venus  and  refuse  to  acknowledge 
its  powerfully  sweet  attraction? 

The  Virgin  Priestess  ot  the  Sun  had  stepped  out  of 
her  shrine;  no  longer  a  creature  removed,  impersonal, 
and  sacred,  she  had  become  most  absolutely  human. 
Moreover,  she  might  now  have  been  taken  for  a  bac- 
chante, a  dancer,  or  any  other  unsexed  example  of  woman- 
hood, inasmuch  as  with  her  golden  o*uUle  she  had  thrown 


198  "ARDATH" 

off  all  disguise  of  modesty.  Her  beautiful  limbs,  rounded 
and  smooth  as  pearl,  could  be  plainly  discerned  through 
the  filmy  garb  of  silvery  tissue  that  clung  like  a  pale 
mist  about  the  voluptuous  curves  of  her  figure  and  floated 
behind  her  in  tiny  gossamer  folds;  her  dazzling  white 
neck  and  arms  were  bare ;  and  from  slim  \\rists  to  snowy 
shoulder,  little  twining  diamond  snakes  glistened  in 
close  coils  against  the  velvety  fairness  of  her  flesh  A 
silver  serpent  with  a  head  of  sapphires  girdled  her  waist, 
and  just  above  the  full  wave  of  her  bosom,  that  rose  and 
fell  visibly  beneath  the  transparent  gathers  of  her  gauzy 
drapery,  shone  a  large,fiery  jewel,  fashioned  in  the  sem- 
blance of  a  human  eye.  This  singular  ornament  was  so 
life-like  as  to  be  absolutely  repulsive,  and  as  it  moved  to 
and  fro  with  its  wearer's  breathing  it  seemed  now  to  stare 
aghast — anon  to  flash  wickedly  as  with  a  thought  of  evil — 
while  more  often  still  it  assumed  a  restlessly  watchful 
expression  as  though  it  were  the  eye  of  a  fiend-inquisitor 
intent  on  the  detection  of  some  secret  treachery.  Poised 
between  those  fair  white  breasts  it  glared  forth,  a  glifc- 
tering  menace,  a  warning  of  unimaginable  horror;  ami 
Theos,  gazing  at  it  fixedly,  felt  a  curious  thiill  ruM 
through  him,  as  if,  so  to  speak,  a  hook  of  steel  had 
been  suddenly  thrust  into  his  quivering  veins  to  draw 
him  steadily  and  securely  on  toward  some  pitfall  of  un- 
known tortures.  Then  he  remembered  what  Sah  Juma 
had  said  about  the  "all  reflecting  eye,  the  weird  mirror 
and  potent  dazzler  of  human  sight,"  and  wondered 
whether  its  mystical  properties  were  such  as  to  compel 
men  to  involuntarily  declare  their  inmost  thoughts,  for 
it  seemed  to  him  that  its  sinister  glow  penetrated  into 
the  very  deepest  recesses  of  his  mind,  and  there  discov- 
ered all  the  hidden  weaknesses,  follies,  and  passions  of 
the  worst  side  of  his  nature! 

He  trembled  and  grew  faint;  his  dazed  eyes  wandered 
over  the  dainty  grace  and  marvel  of  Lysia's  almost  un- 
clad loveliness  with  mingled  emotions  of  allurement  and 
repugnance.  Fascinated,  yet  at  the  same  time  repelled, 
his  soul  yearned  toward  her  as  the  soul  of  the  knight  in 
the  Lorelei  legend  yearned  toward  the  singing  Rhine- 
siren,  whose  embrace  was  destruction;  and  then  he  be- 
came filled  with  a  strange,  sudden  fear — fear,  not  for  him- 
self, but  for  Sah-luma,  whose  ardent  glance  burned  into 


A  VIRGIN    UNSHRINKD  199 

%.er  dark,  languid-lidded,  amorous  orbs  with  the  luster  of 
flame  meeting  flame — Sah-luma,  whose  beautiful  flushed 
face  was  as  that  of  a  god  inspired  or  lover  triumphant. 
Wait  could  he  do  to  shield  and  save  this  so  idolized 
friend  of  his — this  dear  familiar  for  whom  he  had  such 
close  and  ever-increasing  sympathy?  Might  he  not  pos- 
sibly guard  him  in  some  way  and  ward  off  impending 
danger?  But  what  danger?  What  spectral  shadow,  ol 
dread  hovered  above  this  brilliant  scene  of  high  feasting 
and  voluptuous  revelry?  None  that  he  could  imagine 
or  define,  and  yet  he  was  conscious  of  an  ominous  unut- 
tered  premonition  of  peril  in  the  very  air — peril  for  Sah 
liima,  always  for  Sah-luma,  never  for  himself.  Self 
ssemad  dead  and  entombed  forever!  Involuntarily  lift- 
ing his  eyes  to  the  great  green  dome  where  the  globe  of 
fife  twirled  rapidly  like  a  rolling  star,  he  saw  some  words 
written  round  it  in  golden  letters;  they  were  larger  and 
distinct,»and  ran  thus: 

"Live  in  the  Now,  but    question  not    the  Afterward!" 

A  wise  axiom'  Yet  almost  a  platitude,  for  did  not 
e-/ery  one  occupy  themselves  exclusively  with  the  Now. 
regardless  of  future  consequences?  Of  course!  Who 
but  sages — or  fools — would  stop  to  question  the  After- 
ward ! 

Just  then  Lysia  ascended  her  black  crystal  throne  in 
ail  her  statuesque  majesty,  and  sinking  indolently  amid 
its  sable  cushions,  where  shs  shone  in  her  wonderful 
whiteness  like  a  glistening  pearl  set  in  ebony,  she  signed 
to  her  guests  to  resume  their  places  at  table.  She  was 
instantly  obeyed.  Sah-luma  took  what  was  evidently 
his  accustomed  post  at  her  right  hand,  while  Theos  found 
a  vacant  corner  on  her  left,  next  to  the  picturesque 
lounging  figure  of  the  young  man  Nir-jalis,  who  looked 
up  at  him  with  a  halt  smile  as  he  seated  himself,  and 
courteously  made  more  room  for  him  among  the  tumbled 
emerald-silky  draperies  of  the  luxurious  divan  they  now 
shared  together.  Nir-jalis  was  by  no  means  sober,  but 
he  had  recovered  a  little  of  his  self-possession,  since 
l,ysia's  sleepy  eyes  had  darted  such  cold  contempt  upon 
him,  and  he  seemed  for  the  present  to  be  on  his  guard 
against  giving  any  further  possible  cause  of  offense. 

"Thou  art  a  new-comer,  a  stranger,  if  I  mistake  not?" 
>e  inquired  in  a  low,  abrupt,  yet  kindly  tone. 


"AfcDATH* 

"Yes,"  replied  Theos  in  the  same  soft  sotto  voce.  "I 
am  a  mere  sojourner  in  Al-Kyris  for  a  few  days  only, 
the  guest  of  the  divine  Sah-luma. " 

Nir-jalis  raised  his  eyebrows  with  an  expression  of 
amused  wonder. 

"Divine"  he  ejaculated.  "By  my  faith!  what  neophyte 
have  we  here?"  and  supporting  himself  on  one  elbow,  he 
stared  at  his  companion  as  though  he  saw  in  him  seme 
sigular  human  phenomenon.  |cDost  thou  really  believe,'1 
he  went  on  jestingly,  "in  the  divinity  of  poets?  Dost 
thou  think  they  write  what  they  mean,  or  practice  vhat 
they  preach?  Then  art  thou  the  veriest  innocent  that 
ever  wore  the  muscular  semblance  of  man!  Poets,  my 
friend,  are  the  most  absolute  impostors!  they  melodize 
their  rhymed  music  on  phases  of  emotion  they  have 
never  experienced ;  as,  for  instance,  our  laureate  yonder 
will  string  a  pretty  sonnet  on  the  despair  of  love,  he 
knowing  nothing  of  despair;  he  will  write  of  a  broken 
heart,  his  own  being  unpricked  by  so  much  as  a  pin's 
point  of  trouble;  and  he  will  speak  in  his  verse  of  dy- 
ing for  love,  when  he  would  not  let  his  little  finger  ache 
for  the  sake  of  a  woman  who  worshiped  him!  Look  not 
so  vaguely!  'Tis  so,  indeed!  And  as  for  the  divine 
part  of  him,  wait  but  a  little,  and  thou  shalt  see  thy 
poet  god  become  a  satyr!" 

He  laughed  maliciously,  and  Theos  felt  an  angry  flush 
rising  to  his  brows.  He  could  not  bear  to  hear  Sah  lt;ma 
thus  lightly  maligned  even  by  this  half-drunken  reveler; 
it  stung  him  to  the  quick,  as  if  he  personally  were  in- 
cluded in  the  implied  accusation  of  unworthiness.  Nir- 
jalis  perceived  his  annoyance,  and  added  good  naturedly: 

"Tush,  man!  Vex  not  thy  soul  as  to  thy  friend's  vir- 
tues or  vices — what  are  they  to  thee?  And  of  a  truth 
Sah-luma  is  no  worse  than  the  rest  of  us.  All  I  main- 
tain is,  that  he  is  certainly  no  better.  I  have  known 
many  poets  in  my  day,  and  they  are  all  more  cr  less 
alike — petulant  as  babes,  peevish  as  women,  selfish  as 
misers,  and  conceited  as  peacocks.  They  shciild  be  differ- 
ent? Oh,  yes!  they  should  be  the  perpetual  youth  of 
mankind,  the  faithful  singers  of  love  idealized  and  made 
perfect.  But  then,  none  of  us  are  what  we  ought  to  be! 
Besides,  if  we  were  all  virtuous,  by  the  gods!  the  world 
would  become  too  dull  a  home  to  live  in!  Enough! 


A  VIRGIN    UNSHRINED  2GJ 

Wilt  drink  with  me?"  and  beckoning  a  slave,  he  had  his 
own  goblet  and  that  of  Theos  filled  to  the  brim  with 
wine. 

"To  our  more  intimate  acquaintance!"  he  said  smil- 
ingly, and  Theos,  somewhat  captivated  by  the  easy 
courtesy  of  his  manner,  could  do  no  less  than  respond 
cordially  to  the  proffered  toast.  At  that  moment  a  tri- 
umphant burst  of  music,  like  the  sound  of  mingled 
flutes,  hautboys,  and  harps,  rushed  through  the  dome 
like  a  strong  wind  sweeping  in  from  the  sea,  and  with 
it  the  hum  and  buzz  of  conversation  began  in  good 
earnest.  Theos,  lifting  his  gaze  toward  Lysia's  seat, 
saw  that  she  was  now  surrounded  by  the  four  attendant 
negresses,  who,  standing  two  on  each  side  of  her  throne, 
held  large  fans  of  peacock  plumes,  which,  as  they  were 
waved  slowly  to  and  fro,  emitted  a  thousand  scintillations 
of  jewel-like  splendor.  A  slave,  attired  in  scarlet,  knelt 
on  one  knee  before  her,  proffering  a  golden  salver  loaded 
with  the  choicest  fruits  and  wines;  a  lazy  smile  played 
on  her  lips — lips  that  outrivaled  the  dewy  tint  of  half 
opening  roses;  the  serpents  in  her  hair  and  on  her  rounded 
arms  quivered  in  the  light  like  living  things;  the  great 
symbolic  eye  glanced  wickedly  out  from  the  white  beauty 
of  her  heaving  breast;  and  as  he  surveyed  her,  thus  re 
splendent  in  all  the  startling  seductiveness  of  her  danger- 
ous charm,  her  loveliness  entranced  and  intoxicated  him 
like  the  faint  perfume  of  some  rare  and  powerful  exotic; 
his  senses  seemed  to  sink  drowningly  in  the  whelming 
influence  of  her  soft  and  dazzling  grace,  and  though  he 
still  resented,  he  could  not  resist  her  mesmeric  power. 
No  wonder,  he  thought,  that  Sah-luma's  eyes  darkened 
with  passion  as  they  dwelt  on  her!  And  no  wonder  that 
he,  like  Sah-luma,  was  content  to  be  gently  but  surely 
drawn  within  the  glittering  web  of  her  magic  spell — a 
spell  fatal, yet  too  bewilderingly  sweet  for  human  strength 
to  fight  against.  The  mysterious  sense  he  had  of  danger 
lurking  somewhere  for  San-luma,  applied,  so  he  fancied, 
in  no  way  to  himself;  it  did  not  much  matter  what  hap- 
pened to  him — he  was  a  mere  nobody.  He  could  be  of 
no  use  anywhere;  he  was  as  one  banished  into  strange 
exile;  his  brain — that  brain  he  had  once  deemed  so  clear, 
so  subtle,  so  eminently  reasoning  and  all-comprehensive 
"—was  now  nothing  but  a  chaotic  confusion  of  vague  sug« 


2oa  "ARDATH* 

» 

gestions,  and  only  served  to  very  Si  .cly  guide  him  iv 
the  immediate  present,  giving  him  no  practical  clew  at 
all  as  to  the  past  through  which  he  had  lived,  or  the 
circumstances  he  most  wished  to  remember.  He  was  a 
fool,  a  dreamer,  ungifted,  unfamous!  Were  he  to  die, 
not  a  soul  would  regret  his  loss.  His  own  fate,  therefore, 
concerned  him  little;  he  could  handle  fire  recklessly  and 
not  feel  the  flame.  He  could,  so  he  believed,  run  any 
risk,  and  yet  escape  comparatively  free  of  harm. 

But  with  Sah-luma  it  was  different!  Sah-luma  must 
be  guarded  and  cherished;  his  was  a  valuable  life — the 
life  of  a  genius  such  as  the  world  sees  but  once  in  a  cen- 
tury—and it  should  not,  so  Theos  determined,  be  im- 
periled or  wasted.  No!  not  even  for  the  sake  of  the 
sensuous,  exquisite,  conquering  beauty  of  this  dazzling 
Priestess  of  the  Sun — the  fairest  sorceress  that  ever  tri- 
umphed over  the  frail  yet  immortal  spirit  of  manl 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  LOVE  THAT  KILLS. 

How  the  time  went  he  could  not  tell ;  in  so  gay  and 
gorgeous  a  scene  hours  might  easily  pass  with  the  swift- 
ness of  unmarked  moments.  Peals  of  laughter  echoed 
now  and  again  through  the  vaulted  dome,  and  excited 
voices  were  frequently  raised  in  clamorous  disputations 
and  contentious  arguments  that  only  just  sheered  off  the 
boundary  line  of  an  actual  quarrel.  All  sorts  of  topic, 
were  discussed — the  laws,  the  existing  mode  of  govern- 
mant,  the  latest  discoveries  in  science,  and  the  military 
I  rowess  of  the  king — but  the  conversation  chiefly  turned 
on  the  spread  of  disloyalty,  atheism,  and  republicanism 
among  the  population  of  Ai-Kyris,  and  the  influence  of 
Khosrul  on  the  minds  of  the  lower  classes.  The  episode 
of  the  prophet's  late  capture  and  fresh  escape  seemed 
to  be  perfectly  well  known  to  all  present,  though  it  had 
occurred  so  recently;  one  would  have  thought  the  de- 
tailed account  of  it  had  been  received  through  some  pri- 
vate telephone  communicating  with  the  king's  palace. 


TH«  LOVE  THAT  KILLS  203 

As  the  banquet  progressed  and  the  wine  flowed  more 
lavishly,  the  assembled  guests  grew  less  and  less  cir- 
cumspect in  their  general  behavior;  they  flung  them- 
selves  full  length  on  their  luxurious  couches  in  the  lazi 
est  attitudes,  now  pulling  out  handfuls  of  flowers  from 
the  tall  porcelain  jars  that  stood  near,  and  pelting  one 
another  with  them  for  mere  idle  diversion;  now  summon- 
ing the  attendant  slaves  to  refill  their  wine-cups  while 
they  lay  lounging  at  ease  among  their  heaped-up  cush- 
ions of  silk  and  embroidery;  and  yet,  with  all  the  volup- 
tuous freedom  of  their  manners,  the  picturesque  grace 
that  distinguished  them  was  never  wholly  destroyed. 
These  young  men  were  dissolute,  but  not  coarse;  bold, 
but  not  vulgar;  they  took  their  pleasure  in  a  delicately 
wanton  fashion  that  was  infinitely  more  dangerous  in  its 
influence  on  the  mind  than  would  have  been  the  gross 
mirth  and  broad  jesting  of  a  similar  number  of  unedu- 
cated plebeians.  The  rude  licentiousness  of  an  unculti- 
vated boor  has  its  safety  valve  in  disgust  and  satiety,  but 
the  soft,  enervating  sensualism  of  a  trained  and  cultured 
epicurean  aristocrat  is  a  moral  poison  whose  effects  are 
so  insidious  as  to  be  scarcely  felt  till  all  the  native  no- 
bility of  character  has  withered,  and  naught  is  left  of  a 
man  but  the  shadow-wreck  of  his  former  self. 

There  was  nothing  repulsive  in  the  half-ironical,  half 
mischievous  merriment  of  these  patrician  revelers^  their 
witticisms  were  brilliant  and  pointed,  but  never  indeli- 
cate; and  if  their  darker  passions  were  roused,  and  ready 
to  run  riot,  they  showed  as  yet  no  sign  of  it.  They  en- 
foyett—yesl  with  that  selfish  animal  enjoyment  and  love 
of  personal  indulgence  which  all  men,  old  and  young 
without  exception,  take  such  delight  in — unless  indeed 
they  be  sworn  and  sorrowful  anchorites,  and  even  then 
you  may  be  sure  they  are  always  regretting  the  easy 
license  and  libertinage  of  their  by  gone  days  of  unbridled 
independence,  when  they  could  foster  their  pet  weak- 
nesses, cherish  their  favo'rite  vices,  and  laugh  at  all  creeds 
and  all  morality  as  though  Divine  Justice  were  a  mere 
empty  name,  and  they  themselves  the  super-essence  of 
creation.  Ah,  what  a  ridiculous  spectacle  is  man!  the 
two-legged  pigmy  of  limited  brain,  and  still  more  limited 
sympathies,  that,  standing  arrogantly  on  his  little  grave, 
the  earth,  coolly  criticises  the  universe,  settles  laws,  and 


2O4  "ARDATH* 

measures  his  puny  stature  against  that  awful  Unknown 
Force,  deeply  hidden,  but  majestically  existent,  which 
for  want  ot  ampler  designation  we  call  God— God,  whcm 
some  of  us  will  scarcely  recognize,  save  with  a  mixture 
of  doubt,  levity,  and  general  reluctance;  God,  whom 
we  never  obey  unless  obedience  is  enforced  by  calamity; 
God,  whom  we  never  truly  love,  because  so  many  of  us 
prefer  to  stake  our  chances  of  the  future  on  the  possi- 
bility of  His  non-existence! 

Strangely  enough,  thoughts  of  this  God,  this  despised 
and  forgotten  Creator, came  wandering  hazily  over  Theos1 
mind  at  the  present  moment  when,  glancing  round  the 
splendid  banquet  table,  he  studied  the  different  faces  of 
all  assembled,  and  saw  self,  self,  self,  indelibly  im- 
pressed on  every  one  of  them.  Not  a  single  countenance 
was  there  that  did  not  openly  betray  the  complacent 
hauteur  and  tranquil  vanity  of  absolute  egotism,  Sah- 
luma's  especially.  But  then  Sah-luma  had  something 
to  be  proud  of — his  genius;  it  was  natural  that  he  should 
be  satisfied  with  himself — he  was  a  great  man!  But  was 
it  well  for  even  a  great  man  to  admire  his  own  great- 
ness? This  was  a  pertinent  question,  and  somewhat  diffi- 
cult to  anwer.  A  genius  must  surely  be  more  or  less 
conscious  of  his  superiority  to  those  who  have  no  genius? 
Yet  why?  May  it  not  happen,  on  occasions,  that  the  so- 
called  fool  shall  teach  a  lesson  to  the  so-called  wise 
man?  Then  where  is  the  wise  man's  superiority,  if  a 
fool  can  instruct  him?  Theos  found  these  suggestions 
curiously  puzzling;  they  seemed  simple  enough,  and  ye* 
they  opened  up  a  vista  of  intricate  disquisition  which  htf 
was  in  no  humor  to  follow.  To  escape  from  his  own  re- 
flections he  began  to  pay  close  attention  to  the  conversa- 
tion going  on  around  him,  and  listened  with  an  eager, 
almost  painful  interest,  whenever  he  heard  Lysia's 
sweet,  languid  voice  chiming  through  the  clatter  of 
men's  tongues  like  the  silver  stroke  of  a  small  bell  ring- 
ing in  a  storm  at  sea. 

"And  how  hast  thou  left  thy  pale  beauty,  Niphrata?" 
she  was  asking  Sah-luma  in  half  cold,  half  caressing 
accents.  "Does  her  singing  still  charm  thee  as  of  yore? 
I  understand  thou  hast  given  her  her  freedom.  Is  that 
prudent?  Was  she  not  safer  as  thy  slave?" 

•Sah-luma  glanced  up  quickly  in  surprise  "Safer?  She 


THE   LOVE   THAT   KILLS  205 

is  as  safe  as  a    rose    in  its    green    sheath,"     he    replied. 
"What  harm  should  come  to  her?" 

"I  spoke  not  of  harm,"  said  Lysia,  with  a  lazy  smile. 
"But  the  day  may  come,  good  minstrel,  when  thy  sheathed 
rose  may  seek  some  newer  sunshine  than  thy  face,  when 
thy  much  poesy  may  pall  upon  her  spirit,  and  thy  love- 
songs  grow  stale,  and  she  may  string  her  harp  to  a  differ- 
ent tune  than  the  perpetual  adoration  hymn  of  Sah- 
1  u  in  a  !" 

The  handsome  laureate  looked  amused. 

'Let  her  do  so  then!"  he  laughed  carelessly.  "Were 
she  to  leave  me  I  should  not  miss  her  greatly;  a  thou- 
sand pieces  of  gold  will  purchase  me  another  voice  as 
sweet  as  hers,  another  maid  as  fair!  Meanwhile  the 
child  is  free  to  shape  her  own  fate — her  own  future.  I 
bind  her  no  longer  to  my  service;  nevertheless,  like  the 
jessamine  flower,  she  clings,  and  will  not  easily  unwind 
the  tendrils  of  her  heart  from  mine. " 

"Poor  jessamine  flower!"  murmured  Lysia  negligently, 
with  a  touch  of  malice  in  her  tone.  "What  a  rock  it 
doth  embrace;  how  little  vantage-ground  it  hath  where- 
in to  blossom!"  And  her  drowsy  eyes  shot  forth  a  fiery 
glance  from  under  their  heavily  fringed,  drooping  white 
lids. 

Sah-luma  met  her  look  with  one  of  mingled  vexation 
and  reproach;  she  smiled,  and  raising  a  goblet  of  wine 
to  her  lips,  kissed  the  brim,  and  gave  it  to  him  with 
an  indescribably  graceful,  swaying  gesture  of  her  whole 
form  that  reminded  one  of  a  tall  white  lily  bowing  in  the 
breeze.  He  seized  the  cup  eagerly,  drank  from  it,  and 
returned  it;  his  momentary  annoyance,  whatever  it  was, 
passed,  and  a  joyous  elation  illumined  his  fine  features. 
Then  Lysia,  refilling  the  cup,  kissed  it  again  and  handed 
it  to  Theos  with  so  much  soft  animation  and  tenderness, 
in  her  face  as  she  turned  to  him,  that  his  enforced  calm- 
ness nearly  gave  way,  and  he  had  much  ado  to  restrain 
himself  from  falling  at  her  feet  in  a  transport  of  passion, 
and  crying  out:  "Love  me,  O  thou  sorceress-sovereign 
of  beauty!  love  me,  if  only  for  an  hour,  and  then  let  me 
die!  for  I  shall  have  lived  out  all  the  joys  of  life  in  one 
embrace  of  thine!"  His  hand  trembled  as  he  took  the 
goblet,  and  he  drank  half  its  contents  thirstily;  then  im- 
itating Sah-luma's  example,  he  returned  it  to  her  with  a 


2o6  "ARDATH" 

profound  salutation.     Her  eyes  dwelt  meditatively  upon 
him. 

"What  a  dark,  still,  melancholy  countenance  is  thine, 
Sir  Theos!"  she  said  abruptly.  "Thou  art,  for  sure,  a 
man  of  strongly  repressed  and  concentrated  passions ; 
'tis  a  nature  I  love!  I  would  there  were  more  of  thy 
proud  and  chilly  temperament  in  Al-Kyris!  Our  men 
are  like  velvet-winged  butterflies,  drinking  honey  all  day 
and  drowsing  in  sunshine — full  to  the  brows  of  folly; 
frail  and  delicate  as  the  little  dancing  maidens  of  the 
king's  seraglio;  nervous  too,  with  weak  heads  that  are 
apt  to  ache  on  small  provocation,  and  bodies  that  are  apt 
to  fail  easily  when  thus  lightly  fatigued.  Ay!  thou  art 
a  man,  clothed  complete  in  manliness ;  moreover — 

She  paused,  and  leaning  forward  so  that  the  dark  shower 
of  her  perfumed  hair  brushed  his  arm:  '  Hast  ever  heard 
travelers  talk  of  volcanoes — those  marvelous  mountains 
that  oft  wear  crowns  of  ice  on  their  summits  and  yet  hold 
unquenchable  fire  in  their  depths?  Methinks  thou  dost 
resemble  these,  and  that  at  a  touch,  the  flames  would 
leap  forth  uncontrolled!" 

Her  magical  low  voice,  more  melodious  in  tone  than 
the  sound  of  harps  played  by  moonlight  on  the  water, 
thrilled  in  his  ears  and  set  his  pulses  beating  madly. 

With  an  effort  he  checked  the  torrent  of  love -words 
that  rushed  to  his  lips,  and  looked  at  her  in  a  sort  of 
wildly  wondering  appeal  Her  laughter  rang  out  in  sil- 
very sweet  ripples,  and  throwing  herself  lazily  back  in 
her  throne,  she  called: 

"Aizif!     Aizif!" 

The  great  tigress  instantly  bounded  forward  like  an 
obedient  hound,  and  placed  its  fore  paws  on  her  knees, 
while  she  playfully  held  a  sugared  comfit  high  above  its 
head. 

"Up,  Aizif,  up!"  she  cried  mirthfully.  "Up!  and  be 
like  a  man  for  once!  Snatch  thy  pleasure  at  all  hazards." 

With  a  roar,  the  savage  brute  leaped  and  sprang,  its 
sharp  white  teeth  fully  displayed, its  sly  green  eyes  glis- 
teningly  prominent, and  again  Lysia's  rich  laughter  pealed 
forth,  mingling  with  the  impatient  snarls  of  her  terrific 
favorite.  Still  she  held  the  tempting  morsel  in  her  little 
snowy  hand,  that  glittered  all  over  with  rare  gems,  and 
Still  the  tigress  continued  to  make  impotent  attempts 


THE  LOVE  THAT   KILLS  307 

lo  reach  it,  growing  more  and  more  ferocious  with  every 
fresh  effort,  till,  all  at  once,  she  shut  her  palm  upon  the 
dainty  so  that  it  could  not  be  seen,  and  lightly  catching 
the  irritated  beast  by  the  throat,  brought  its  eyes  on  a 
level  with  her  own.  The  effect  was  instantaneous;  a 
strong  shudder  passed  through  its  frame;  it  cowered  and 
crouched  lower  and  lower  in  abject  fear;  the  sweat  broke- 
out,  and  stood  in  large  drops  on  its  sleek  hide,  and, 
panting  heavily,  as  the  firm  grasp  of  its  mistress  slowly 
relaxed,  it  sank  down  prone  in  trembling  abasement 
on  the  second  step  of  the  dais,  still  looking  up  into  those 
densely  brilliant  gazslle  eyes,  that  were  full  of  such  deadly 
fascination  and  merciless  tyranny. 

"Good  Aizif!"  said  Lysia  then,  in  that  languid,  soft 
voice  that,  while  so  sweet,  suggested  hidden  treachery. 
"Gentle  fondling!  Thou  hast  fairly  earned  thy  reward! 
Here,  take  it!"  and  unclosing  her  roseate  palm,  she 
showed  the  desired  bonne-bouche,  and  offered  it  with  a 
pretty  coaxing  air,  but  the  tigress  now  refused  to  touch 
it,  and  lay  as  still  as  an  animal  of  painted  stone. 

"What  a  true  philosopher  she  is,  my  sweet  Aizif!" 
she  went  on  amusedly,  stroking  the  creature's  head. 
"Her  feminine  wit  teaches  her  what  the  dull  brains  of 
ivien  can  never  grasp — namely,  that  pleasures,  no  matter 
how  sweet,  turn  to  ashes  and  wormwood  when  once  ob- 
tained, and  that  the  only  happiness  in  this  world  is  the 
charm  of  desire.  There  is  a  subject  for  thee,  Sah-luma! 
Write  an  immortal  ode  on  the  mysteries,  the  delights, 
the  never  ending  ravishment  of  desire!  but  carry  not 
thy  fancy  on  to  desire's  fulfillment,  for  there  thou  shalt 
find  infinite  bitterness  !  The  soul  that  willfully  gratifies 
its  dearest  wish  has  stripped  life  of  its  supremest  joy, 
and  stands  thereafter  in  an  emptied  sphere,  sorrowful 
and  alone,  with  nothing  left  to  hope  for,  nothing  to  look 
forward  to,  save  death,  the  end  of  all  ambition!" 

"Nay,  fair  lady,"  said  Theos  suddenly,  "we  who  deem 
ourselves  the  children  of  the  high  gods,  and  the  off- 
spring of  a  Spirit  Eternal,  may  surely  aspire  to  some 
thing  beyond  this  death,  that,  like  a  black  seal,  closes 
up  the  brief  scroll  of  our  merely  human  existence!  And 
to  us,  therefore,  ambition  should  be  ceaseless,  for  if  we 
master  the  world,  there  are  yet  more  worlds  to  win  ;  and 
it  we  find  one  heaven,  we  do  but  accept  it  as  a  pledge  of 


208  "ARDATH" 

other  heavens  beyond  it!  The  aspirations  of  man  are 
limitless,  hence  his  best  assurance  of  immortality;  else 
why  should  he  perpetually  long  for  things  that  here  are 
impossible  of  attainment — things  that,  like  faint  floating 
clouds  rimmed  with  light,  suggest,  without  declaring, 
a  glory  unperceived?" 

Lysia  looked  at  him  steadfastly,  an  undergleam  ol 
malice  shining  in  her  slumberous  eyes. 

"Why?  Because,  good  sir,  the  gods  love  mirth;  and 
the  wanton  immortals  are  never  more  thoroughly  diverted 
than  when,  leaning  downward  from  their  clear  empyrean, 
they  behold  man,  their  insect-toy,  arrogating  to  himseil 
a  share  in  their  imperishable  essence]  To  keep  up  the 
eternal  jest,  they  torture  him  with  vain  delusions,  and 
prick  him  on  with  hopes  never  to  be  realized.  Ay!  and 
the  whole  vast  heaven  may  well  shake  with  thunderous 
laughter  at  the  pride  with  which  he  doth  put  forth  his 
puny  claim  to  be  elected  to  another  and  fairer  state  of 
existence!  What  hath  he  done;  what  does  he  do  to 
merit  a  future  life?  Are  his  deeds  so  noble?  Is  his 
wisdom  so  great?  Is  his  mind  so  stainless?  He,  the 
oppressor  of  all  nature  and  of  his  brother-man — he,  the 
insolent,  self-opinionated  tyrant,  yet  bound  slave  of  the 
earth  on  which  he  dwells — why  should  he  live  again  and 
carry  his  ignoble  presence  into  the  splendors  of  an  eter- 
nity too  vast  for  him  to  comprehend?  Nay,  nay !  I  per- 
ceive thou  art  one  of  the  credulous,  for  whom  a  reason- 
less worship  to  an  unproved  deity  is,  for  the  sake  of 
state-policy,  maintained;  I  had  thought  thee  wiser!  But 
no  matter!  thou  shalt  pay  thy  vows  to  the  shrine  of 
Nagaya  to-morrow,  and  see  with  what  glorious  pomp 
and  panoply  we  impose  on  the  faithful,  who,  like  thee, 
believe,  in  their  own  deathless  and  divinely  constituted 
natures,  and  enjoy,  to  the  full,  the  grand  conceit  that 
persuades  them  of  their  right  to  immortality !r> 

Her  words  carried  with  them  a  certain  practical  posi- 
t;reness  of  meaning,  and  Theos  was  somewhat  impressed 
by  their  seeming  truth.  After  all,  it  was  a  curious  and 
unfounded  conceit  of  man  to  imagine  himself  the  pos- 
sessor of  an  immortal  soul,  and  yet,  if  all  things  were 
the  outcome  of  a  divine  creative  influence,  was  it  not 
unjust  of  the  creative  influence  to  endow  all  humanity 
with  such  a  belief  if  it  had  no  foundation  what- 


THE  LOVE  THAT  KILLS  2CK} 

ever?     And    could   injustice    be   associated   with  divine 
law? 

He,  Theos,  for  instance,  was  certain  of  his  own  im- 
mortality; so  certain  that,  surrounded  as  he  was  by  this 
Drilliant  company  of  evident  atheists,  he  felt  himself  to 
be  the  only  real  and  positive  existing  being  among  an 
assembly  of  shadow-figures;  but  it  was  not  the  time  or 
the  place  to  enter  into  a  theological  discussion,  espec 
ially  with  Lysia,  and,  for  the  moment  at  least,  he  allowed 
her  assertions  to  remain  uncontradicted.  He  sat,  how- 
ever, in  a  somewhat  stern  silence,  now  and  then  glanc 
ing  wistfully  and  anxiously  at  Sah-luma,  on  whom  the 
potent  wines  were  beginning  to  take  effect,  and  who  had 
just  thrown  himself  down  on  the  dai's  at  Lysia's  feet, 
close  to  the  tigress  that  still  lay  crouched  there  in  im- 
movable quiet.  It  was  a  picture  worthy  of  the  grandest 
painter's  brush,  that  glistening  throne  black  as  jet,  with 
the  fair  form  of  Lysia  shining  within  it,  like  a  white 
sea-nymph  at  rest  in  a  grotto  of  ocean-stalactites;  the 
fantastically  attired  negresses  on  each  side,  with  their 
waving  peacock  plumes;  the  vivid  carnation  color  of  the 
da'is,  against  which  the  black  and  yellow  stripes  of  the 
tigress  showed  up  in  strong  and  brilliant  contrast;  and 
the  graceful,  jewel-decked  figure  of  the  poet  laureate, 
who,  half-sitting,  half-reclining  on  a  black  velvet  cush- 
ion, leaned  his  handsome  head  indolently  against  the 
silvery  folds  of  Lysia's  robe,  and  looked  up  at  her  with 
eyes  in  which  burned  the  ardent  admiration  and  scarcely 
restrained  passion  of  a  privileged  lover. 

Suddenly  and  quite  involuntarily  Theos  thought  of 
Niphrata;  alas,  poor  maiden!  how  utterly  her  devotion 
to  Sah-luma  was  wasted!  What  did  he  care  for  her  timid 
tenderness,  her  unselfish  worship?  Nothing!  less  than 
nothing!  He  was  entirely  absorbed  by  the  sovereign, 
peerless  beauty  of  this  wonderful  high-priestess,  this 
witch-like  weaver  of  spells  more  potent  than  those  of 
Circe;  and  musing  thereon,  Theos  was  sorry  for  Niphrata, 
he  knew  not  why.  He  felt  that  she  had  somehow  been 
wronged,  that  she  suffered,  and  that  he,  as  well  as  Sah- 
luma,  was  in  some  mysterious  way  to  blame  for  this, 
though  he  could  by  no  means  account  for  his  own  share 
in  the  dimly  suggested  reproach.  This  peculiar  remorse- 
ful emotion  was  transitory,  like  all  the  vaguely  incom- 


2io  "ARDATH" 

plete  ideas  that  traveled  mistily  through  his  perplexed 
brain,  and  he  soon  forgot  it  in  the  increasing  animation 
and  interest  of  the  scene  that  immediately  surrounded 
him. 

The  general  conversation  was  becoming  more  and  n  ere 
noisy,  and  the  laughter  more  and  more  boisterous.  Sev- 
eral of  the  young  men  were  now  very  much  the  worse 
for  their  frequent  libations,  and  Nu-jalis,  particularly, 
began  to  show  marked  symptoms  of  an  inclination  to 
break  loose  from  all  the  bonds  of  prudent  reserve.  He 
lay  full  length  on  his  silk  divan,  his  feet  touching  Theos, 
who  sat  upright,  and,  singing  little  snatches  of  song  to 
himself,  he  pulled  the  vine  wreath  from  his  tumbled  fair 
locks  as  though  he  found  it  too  weighty,  and  fiung  it  on 
the  ground  among  the  other  debris  of  the  ieast.  Then 
folding  his  arms  lazily  behind  his  head,  he  stared  straight 
and  fixedly  before  him  at  Lysia,  seeming  to  note  everv 
jewel  on  her  dress,  every  curve  of  her  body,  every  slight 
gesture  of  her  hand,  every  faint,  cold  smile  that  played 
on  her  lovely  lips.  One  young  man  whom  the  others 
addressed  as  Ormaz,  a  haughty,  handsome  fellow  enough, 
though  with  rather  a  sneering  mouth  just  visible  undej 
his  black  mustache,  was  talking  somewhat  excitedly  on 
the  subject  of  Khosrul's  cunningly  devised  flight;  for  it 
seemed  to  be  universally  understood  that  the  venerable 
prophet  was  one  of  the  Circle  of  Mystics, persons  whose 
knowledge  of  science,  especially  in  matters  connected 
with  electricity,  enabled  them  to  perform  astonishing 
juggleries,  that  were  frequently  accepted  by  the  unini- 
tiated vulgar  as  almost  divine  miracles.  Not  very  long 
ago,  according  to  Ormaz,  who  was  animatedly  recalling 
the  circumstance  for  the  benefit  of  the  company,  the 
xvords  "FALL,  AL  KYRIS!"  had  appeared  emblazoned  in 
letters  of  fire  on  the  sky  at  midnight,  and  the  phenome- 
non had  been  accompanied  by  two  tremendous  volleys  of 
thunder,  to  the  infinite  consternation  of  the  multitude, 
who  received  it  as  a  supernatural  manifestation.  But  a 
member  of  the  king's  privy  council,  a  satirical  skeptic 
and  mistruster  of  everybody's  word  but  his  own,  under- 
took to  sift  the  matter,  and  adopting  the  dress  of  the 
Mystics,  managed  to  introduce  himself  into  one  of  their 
secret  assemblies,  where,  with  considerable  astonishment, 
he  saw  them  make  use  of  a  small  wire,  by  means  o£ 


THE  LOVE   THAT   FILLS  211 

v.'hich  they  wrote  in  characters  ot  azure  flame  on  the 
whiteness  of  a  blank  wall;  moreover,  he  discovered  that 
they  possessed  a  lofty  turret  built  secretly  and  securely 
in  a  deep,  unfrequented  grove  of  trees,  from  whence, 
with  the  aid  of  various  curious  instruments  and  reflect- 
ors, they  could  fling  out  any  pattern  or  device  they  chose 
on  the  sky,  so  that  it  should  seem  to  be  written  by  the 
finger  of  lightning.  Having  elucidated  these  mysteries, 
and  become  highly  edified  thereby,  the  learned  council- 
or returned  to  the  king,  and  gave  full  information  as  to 
the  result  of  his  researches,  whereupon  forty  Mystics 
were  at  once  arrested  and  flung  into  prison  for  life,  and 
their  nefarious  practices  were  made  publicly  known  to 
all  the  inhabitants  of  the  city.  Since  then,  no  so  called 
"spiritual"  demonstrations  had  taken  place  till  now, 
when  on  this  very  night  Zephoranim's  presence  chamber 
had  been  suddenly  enveloped  in  the  thunderous  and  ter- 
rifying darkness  which  had  so  successfully  covered  Khos- 
rul's  escape. 

"The  king  should  have  slain  him  at  once,"  declared 
Ormaz  emphatically,  turning  to  Lysia  as  he  spoke.  "I 
am  surprised  that  His  Majesty  permitted  so  flagrant  an 
impostor  and  trespasser  of  the  law  to  speak  ons  word, 
or.  live  one  moment  in  his  royal  presence." 

"Thou  art  surprised,  Ormaz,  at  most  things,  especially 
those  which  savor  of  simple  good-nature  and  forbearance," 
responded  Lysia  coldly.  "Thou  art  a  wolfish  youth,  and 
wouldst  tear  thine  own  brother  to  shreds  if  he  thwarted 
thy  pleasure!  For  myself  I  see  little  cause  for  astonish- 
ment, that  a  soldier  hero  like  Zephoranim  should  take 
some  pity  on  so  frail  and  aged  a  wreck  of  human  wit  a* 
Khosrul.  Khosrul  blasphemes  the  faith — what  then? 
Do  ye  no;  all  blaspheme?" 

<;Not  in  the  open  streets!"   said  Ormaz  hastily. 

"No,  ye  have  not  the  mettle  for  that!"  and  Lysia 
smiled  darkly,  while  the  great  eye  on  her  breast  flashed 
forth  a  sardonic  luster.  "Strong  as  ye  all  are,  and  young, 
ve  lack  the  bravery  of  the  weak  old  man  who,  mad  as 
he  may  be,  has  at  least  the  courage  of  his  opinions ! 
Who  is  there  here  that  believes  in  the  sun  as  a  god,  or 
in  Nagaya  as  a  mediator?  Not  one;  but  ye  are  cultured 
•)ypocrites  all,  and  careful  to  keep  your  heresies  secret!" 

"And  thou,  Lysia  1"    suddenly   cried  Nir-jSUs     "Why 


212  "ARDATH* 

if  thou  canst  so  liberally  admire  the  valor  of  thy  sworn 
enemy,  Khosrul,  why  dost  not  thou  step  boldly  forth, 
and  abjure  the  faith  thou  art  priestess  of,  yet  in  thy 
heart  deridest  as  a  miserable  superstition?" 

She  turned  her  splendid,  flashing  orbs  slowly  upon 
him;  what  an  awful,  chill,  steoly  glitter  leaped  forth  from 
their  velvet -soft  depths! 

"Prithee,  be  heedful  of  thy  speech,  good  Nir-jalis, "  she 
said,  with  a  quiver  in  her  voice  curiously  like  the  sup- 
pressed snarl  of  her  pet  tigress.  "The  majoity  of  men 
are  fools — like  thee — and  need  to  be  ruled  according  to 
their  folly." 

Ormaz  broke  into  a  laugh.  "And  thou  dost  rule  them, 
wise  virgin,  with  a  rod  of  iron!"  he  said  satirically. 
"The  king  himself  is  but  a  slave  in  thy  hands." 

"The  king  is  a  devout  believer,"  remarked  a  dainty, 
effeminate  looking  youth,  arrayed  in  a  wonderfully  pic- 
turesque garb  of  glistening  purple.  "He  pays  his  vows 
to  Nagaya  three  times  a  day,  at  sunrise,  noon,  and  sunset, 
and  'tis  said  he  hath  oft  been  seen  of  late  in  silent  medi- 
tation alone  before  the  sacred  veil,  even  after  midnight. 
Maybe  he  is  there  at  this  verj'  moment,  offering  up  a 
royal  petition  for  those  of  his  less  pious  subjects  who, 
like  ourselves,  love  good  wine  more  than  long  prayers. 
Ah!  he  is  a  most  austere  and  noble  monarch,  a  very 
anchorite  and  pattern  of  strict  religious  discipline!" 
And  he  shook  his  head  to  and  fro  with  an  air  of  mock 
solemn  fervor.  Every  one  laughed,  and  Ormaz  playfully 
threw  a  cluster  of  half-crushed  roses  at  the  speaker. 

"Hold  thy  foolish  tcngue  Pharnim,"  he  said.  "The 
king  doth  but  show  a  fitting  example  to  his  people;  there 
is  a  time  to  pray,  and  a  time  to  feast,  and  our  Zephor- 
anim  can  do  both  as  becomes  a  man.  But  of  his  mid- 
night meditations  I  have  heard  naught.  Since  when 
hath  he  deserted  his  court  of  love  for  the  colder  cham- 
bers of  the  sacred  temple?" 

"Ask  Lysia!"  muttered  Nir-jalis  drowsily  under  his 
breath.  "She  knows  more  of  the  king  than  she  cares 
to  confess!" 

His  words  were  spoken  in  a  low  voice,  and  yet  they 
were  distinct  enough  for  all  present  to  hear.  A  glance 
of  absolute  dismay  went  round  the  table,  and  a  breath- 
less silence  followed,  like  the  ominous  hush  of  a  heated 


THE  LOVE  THAT  KtLLS  21 3 

atmosphere  before  a  thunderclap.  Nir-jalis,  apparently 
struck  by  the  sudden  stillness,  looked  lazily  round  from 
among  the  tumbled  cushions  where  he  reclined,  a  vacant, 
tipsy  smile  on  his  lips. 

"What  a  company  of  mutes  ye  are!"  he  said  thickly. 
"Did  ye  not  hear  me?  I  bade  ye  ask  Lysia, "  and  all  at 
once  he  sat  bolt  upright,  his  face  crimsoning  as  with  an 
access  of  passion.  "Ask  Lysia!"  he  repeated  loudly. 
"Ask  her  why  the  miguty  Zephoianim  creeps  in  and 
out  the  sacred  temple  at  midnight  like  a  skulking  slave 
instead  of  a  king — at  midnight,  when  he  should  be  shut 
within  his  palace  walls  playing  the  fool  among  his 
women!  I  warrant  'tis  not  piety  thit  persuades  him  to 
wander  through  the  underground  passage  of  the  tombs 
alone  and  in  disguise!  Sali-luaia — pretty, pampered  hound 
as  thou  art — thou  art  n^ar  enough  to  Our  Lady  of  Witch- 
eries— ask  her,  ask  her,  she  knows,"  and  his  voice  sank 
into  an  incoherent  murmur,  "she  knows  more  than  she 
cares  to  confess!  ' 

AnDthsr  deep  and  death-like  pause,  ensued,  and  then 
Lysia's  silvery  cold  tones  smote  the  profound  silence 
with  calm,  clear  resonance. 

"Friend  Nir-jalis,"  she  said — how  tuneful  were  her 
accents,  how  chilly  s\veet  harsmili — "methinks  thou  art 
grown  altogether  too  wise  for  this  world!  'Tis  pity  thou 
shouldst  continue  to  linger  in  so  narrow  and  incomplete 
a  sphere!  Dspart  hence  therefore!  I  shall  freely  excuse 
thine  absence,  since  thy  hour  has  come!" 

And,  taking  from  the  table  at  her  side  a  tall  crystal 
chalice  fashioned  in  the  form  of  a  lily  set  on  a  golden 
stem,  she  held  it  up  toward  him.  Starting  wildly  from 
his  couch  he  looked  at  her,  as  though  doubting  whether 
ha  had  heard  her  words  aright;  a  strong  shudder  shook 
him  from  head  to  foot;  his  hands  clenched  themselves 
convulsively  together,  and  then  slowly,  slowly,  he  stag- 
gered to  his  feet  and  stood  upright.  He  was  suddenly 
but  effectually  sobered,  the  flush  of  intoxication  died  off 
his  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  grew  strained  and  piteous. 
Theos,  watching  him  in  wonder  and  fear,  saw  his  broad 
chest  heave  with  the  rapid-drawn  gasping  of  his  breath; 
he  advanced  a  step  or  two,  then  all  at  once  stretched  out 
his  hands  in  imploring  agony. 

"Lysia"  he  murmured  huskily.  "Lysia!  pardon!  spare 
me!  For  the  sake  oj  past  1-j^e.  have  pity!" 


214  "ARDATH" 

At  this  Sah-hnna  sprang  up  from  his  lounging  posture 
on  the  dais,  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  dagger,  his  whole 
face  flaming  with  wrath. 

"By  my  soul!"  he  cried,  "what  doth  this  fellow  prate 
of?  Past  love?  Thou  profane  boaster!  how  darest  thou 
speak  of  love  to  the  priestess  of  the  faith?" 

Nir-jalis  heeded  him  not.  His  eyes  were  fixed  en 
Lysia,  like  the  eyes  of  a  tortured  animal  who  vainly 
seeks  for  mercy  at  the  hand  of  its  destroyer.  Step  by 
step  he  came  hesitatingly  to  the  foot  of  her  throne,  and 
it  was  then  that  Theos  perceived  near  at  hand  a  perton- 
age  he  immediately  recognized — the  black,  scarlet-clad 
slave,  Gazra,  who  had  brought  Lysia' s  message  to  Sah- 
luma  that  same  afternoon.  He  had  made  his  appearance 
now  so  swiftly  and  silently  that  it  was  impossible  to  tell 
where  he  had  come  from,  and  he  stood  close  to  Nir-jalis, 
his  muscular  arms  folded  tightly  across  his  chest,  and 
his  hideous  mouth  contorted  into  a  grin  of  cruel  amuse- 
ment and  expectancy.  Absolute  quiet  reigned  within  the 
magnificent  hall,  the  music  had  ceased,  and  not  a  sound 
could  be  heard,  save  the  delicate  murmur  of  the  wind 
outside  swaying  the  water  lilies  on  the  moonlit  lake. 
Every  one's  attention  was  centered  on  the  unhappy 
young  man,  who,  with  lifted  head  and  rigidly-clasped 
hands,  faced  Lysia  as  a  criminal  faces  a  judge — Lysia, 
whose  exquisite  voice  lost  none  of  its  richness  as  she 
spoke  his  doom. 

"By  the  vow  which  thou  hast  vowed  to  me,  Nir-jalis," 
she  said  slowly,  "and  by  thine  oath  sworn  on  the  sym- 
bolic eye  of  Raphon" — here  she  touched  the  dreadful 
jewel  on  her  breast — "which  bound  thy  life  to  my  keep- 
ing, and  thy  death  to  my  day  of  choice,  I  herewith  be- 
stow on  thee  the  chalice  of  oblivion — the  silver  nectar 
of  peace!  Sleep,  and  wake  no  more!  Drink  and  die! 
The  gateways  of  the  Kingdom  of  Silence  stand  open  to 
receive  thee!  Thy  service  is  finished!  Fare  thee  well!" 

And  with  the  utterance  of  the  last  word,  she  gave  him 
the  glittering  cup  she  held.  He  took  it  mechanically, 
and  for  one  instant  glared  about  him  on  all  sides,  scan- 
ning the  faces  of  the  attentive  guests  as  though  in  the 
faint  hope  of  some  pity,  some  attempt  at  rescue.  But 
not  a  single  look  of  compassion  was  bestowed  upon  him 
save  by  Theos  who,  full  of  struggliiig  amazement  and 


THE   LOVE  THAT  KILLS  215 

horror,  would  have  broken  into  indignant  remonstrance, 
had  not  an  imperative  glance  from  Sah-luma  warned  him 
that  any  interference  on  his  part  would  only  make  mat- 
ters worse.  He,  therefore,  sorely  against  his  will,  and 
only  for  Sah-luma's  sake,  kept  silence,  watching  Nir-jalis 
meanwhile  in  a  sort  of  horrible  fascination. 

There  was  somsthing  truly  awful  in  the  radiant,  un- 
quenchable laughter  that  lurked  in  Lysia's  lovely  eyes, 
something  positively  devilish  in  the  calm  grace  of  her 
manner,as  with  a  negligent  movement  she  reseated  herself 
in  her  crystal  throne,  and  taking  a  knot  of  magnolia 
flowers  that  lay  beside  her,  idly  toyed  with  their  creamy 
buds,  all  the  while  keeping  her  basilisk  gaze  fixed  im- 
movably and  relentlessly  on  her  sentenced  victim.  He, 
grasping  the  lily  shaped  chalice  convulsively  in  his  right 
hand,  looked  up  despairingly  to  the  polished  dome  of 
malachite,  with  its  revolving  globe  of  fire  that  shed  a 
solemn  blood  red  glow  upon  his  agonized  young  face; 
a  smile  was  on  his  lips,  the  dreadful  smile  of  desperate, 
maddened  misery. 

"O  ye  malignant  gods!"  he  cried  fiercely.  "Ye  im- 
mortal furies  that  made  woman  for  man's  torture!  Bear 
witness  to  my  death,  bear  witness  to  my  parting  spirit's 
malediction!  Cursed  be  they  who  love  unwisely  and 
too  well !  Cursed  be  all  the  wiles  of  desire  and  the 
haunts  of  dear  passion!  Cursed  be  all  fair  faces  whose 
fairness  lures  man  to  destruction1  Cursed  be  the  warmth 
of  caresses,  the  beating  of  heart  against  heart,  the  kisses 
that  color  midnight  with  fire!  Cursed  be  love  from  birth 
unto  death!  May  its  sweetness  be  brief,  and  its  bitter- 
ness endless;  its  delights  a  snare,  and  its  promise  treach- 
ery! O  ye  mad  lovers — fools  all!"  and  he  turned  his 
splendid  wild  eyes  round  on  the  hushed  assemblage. 
"Despise  me  and  my  words  as  ye  will,  throughout  ages 
to  come  the  curse  of  the  dead  Nir-jalis  shall  cling!" 

He  lifted  the  goblet  to  his  lips,  and  just  then  his  delir- 
rio'.is  glance  lighted  on  Sah-luma. 

"I  drink  to  thee,  Sir  Laureate!"  he  said  hoarsely  and 
with  a  ghastly  attempt  at  levity.  "Sing  as  sweetly  as 
thou  wilt,  thou  must  drain  the  same  cup  ere  long!" 

And  without  another  second's  hesitation  he  drank  of} 
the  entire  contents  of  the  chalice  at  a  draught.  Scarcely 
had  he  done  so,  when  with  a  savage  scream  he  fell  prone 


216  "ARDATH" 

on  the  ground,  his  limbs  twisted  in  acute  agony,  his 
features  hideously  contorted,  his  hands  beating  the  air 
wildly,  as  though  in  contention  with  some  invisible  foe, 
while,  in  strange  and  terrible  dissonance  with  his  tor- 
tured cries,  Lysia's  laughter,  musically  mellow,  broke 
out  in  little  quick  peals,  like  the  laughter  of  a  very 
young  child. 

"Ah,  ah,  Nir  jalis!"  she  exclaimed.  "Thou  dost  suffer! 
That  is  well!  I  do  rejoice  to  see  thee  fighting  for  life 
m  the  very  jaws  of  death!  Fain  would  I  have  all  men 
thus  tortured  out  of  their  proud  and  tyrannous  existence, 
their  strength  made  strengthless,  their  arrogance  brought 
to  naught,  their  egotism  and  vain  glory  beaten  to  the 
dust!  Ah,  ah!  thou  that  wert  the  complacent  braggart 
of  love,  the  self-sufficient  proclaimer  of  thine  own  prow- 
ess, where  is  thy  boasted  vigor  now?  Writhe  on,  good 
fool,  thy  little  day  is  done  !  All  honor  to  the  silver  nec- 
tar whose  venom  never  fails!" 

Leaning  forward  eagerly,  she  clapped  her  hands  in  a 
sort  of  fierce  ecstasy,  and  apparently  startled  by  the 
sound,  the  tigress  rose  up  from  its  couchant  posture,  and 
shaking  i.jelf  with  a  snarling  yawn,  glared  watchfully 
at  the  convulsed  human  wretch  whose  struggles  became 
with  each  moment  more  and  more  frightful  to  witness. 
The  impassive,  cold-blooded  calmness  with  which  all  the 
men  present,  even  Sah-luma,  looked  on  at  the  revolting 
spectacle  of  their  late  comrade's  torture,  filled  Theos 
with  shuddering  abhorrence.  Sick  at  heart,  he  strove 
to  turn  away  his  eyes  from  the  straining  throat  and  up- 
turned face  of  the  miserable  Nir-jalis — a  face  that  had  a 
moment  or  two  before  been  beautiful,  but  that  was  now 
so  disfigured  as  to  be  almost  beyond  recognition.  Pres- 
ently, as  the  anguish  of  the  poisoned  victim  increased, 
shriek  after  shriek  broke  from  his  pallid  lips.  Rolling  him- 
self on  the  ground  like  a  wild  beast,  he  bit  his  hands  and 
arms  in  his  frenzy  till  he  was  covered  with  blood,  and 
again  and  yet  again  the  dulcet  laughter  of  the  high-priest- 
ess echoed  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  splen- 
did hall,  and  even  Sah  luma,  the  poet  Sah-luma,  conde- 
scended to  smile!  That  smile,  so  cold,  so  pure,  so  unpity- 
ing,made  Theos  for  a  moment  hate  him;  of  what  use,he 
thought,  was  it  to  be  a  writer  of  soft  and  delicate  verse, 
if  the  inner  nature  of  the  man  was  merciless,  selfish,  and 


THE  LOVE  THAT  KILLS  217 

utterly  regardless  of  the  woes  of  others?  The  rest  of  the 
guests  were  profoundly  indifferent.  They  kept  silence,  it 
is  true,but  they  went  on  drinking  their  wine  with  perfectly 
unabated  enjoyment;  they  were  evidently  accustomed  to 
such  scenes.  The  attendant  slaves  stood  all  mute  and 
motionless,  with  the  exception  of  Gazra,  who  surveyed 
the  torments  of  Nir-jalis  with  an  air  of  professional  in- 
terest, and  appeared  to  be  waiting  till  they  should  have 
reached  that  pitch  of  excruciating  agony  when  nature, 
exhausted,  gives  up  the  conflict  and  welcomes  death  as 
a  release  from  pain. 

But  this  desirable  end  was  not  yet.  Suddenly  spring- 
ing to  his  feet,  Nir-jalis  tore  open  his  richly  jeweled 
vest,  and  pressed  his  two  hands  hard  upon  his  heart; 
the  veins  in  his  flesh  were  swollen  and  blue;  his  labored 
breath  seemed  as  though  it  must  break  his  ribs  in  its 
terrible  panting  struggle;  his  face,  livid  and  lined  with 
purple  marks  like  heavy  bruises,  bore  not  a  single  trace 
of  its  former  fairness,  and  his  eyes,  rolled  up  and  fixed 
glassily  in  their  quivering  sockets,  seemed  to  be  dread- 
fully filled  with  the  speechless  memory  of  his  lately 
spoken  curse.  He  staggered  toward  Theos,  and  drop- 
ped heavily  on  his  knees. 

"Kill  me!"  he  moaned  piteously,  feebly  pointing  to 
the  sheathed  dagger  in  the  other's  belt.  "In  mercy — 
kill  me!  One  thrust — release  me — this  agony  is  more 
than  I  can  bear — kill— kill — " 

His  voice  died  away  in  an  inarticulate  gasping  cry, 
and  Theos  stared  down  upon  him  in  dizzy  fear  and  hor- 
ror !  For — he  had  seen  this  same  Nir-jalis  dying  thus 
cruelly  before!  O  God — where — where  had  this  tragedy 
been  previously  enacted?  Bewildered  and  overcome 
with  unspeakable  dread,  he  drew  his  dagger— he  would 
at  least,  he  thought,  put  the  tortured  sufferer  out  of  his 
misery — but  scarcely  had  his  weapon  left  the  sheath, 
when  Lysia's  clear  cold,  voice  exclaimed: 

"Disarm  him!"  and  with  the  silent  rapidity  of  a  light- 
ning flash,  Gazr&  glided  to  his  side,  and  the  steel  was 
snatched  from  his  hand.  Full  of  outraged  pride  and 
wrath,  he  sprang  up,  a  torrent  of  words  rushing  to  his 
lips,  but  before  he  could  utter  one,  two  slaves  pounced 
upon  him,  and  holding  his  arms,  dexterously  wound  a 
silk  scarf  tight  about  his  mouth. 


218  "ARDATH" 

"Be  silent!"  whispered  some  one  in  his  ear.  "As  you 
value  your  life  and  the  life  of  Sah  luma,  be  silent!" 

But  he  cared  nothing  for  this  warning.  Reckless  of 
consequences,  he  tore  the  scarf  away,  and  breaking  loose 
from  the  hands  that  held  him,  made  a  bound  toward 
Lysia — there  he  paused.  Her  eyes  met  his  languidl}', 
shedding  a  somber,  mysterious  light  upon  him  through 
the  black  shower  of  her  abundant  hair;  the  evil  glitter 
of  the  great  symbolic  gem  she  wore  fixed  him  with  its 
stony  yet  mesmeric  luster;  a  delicious  smile  parted  her 
roseate  lips,  and  breaking  off  a  magnolia  bud  from  the 
cluster  she  held,  she  kissed  and  gave  it  to  him. 

"Be  at  peace,  good  Theos!  she  said  in  a  low,  tender 
tone.  "Beware  of  taking  up  arms  in  the  defense  of  the 
unworthy;  rather  reserve  thy  courage  for  those  who  know 
how  best  to  reward  thy  service!" 

As  one  in  a  trance  he  took  the  flower  she  offered;  its 
fragrance,  subtle  and  sweet,  seemed  to  steal  into  his 
veins,  and  rob  his  manhood  of  all  strength.  Sinking 
submissively  at  her  feet,  he  gazed  up  at  her  in  wondering 
wistfulness  and  ardent  admiration.  Never  was  there  a 
woman  so  bewilderingly  beautiful  as  she!  What  were  the 
sufferings  of  Nir-jalis  now?  What  was  anything  compared 
to  the  strangely  enervating  ecstasy  he  felt  in  letting  his 
eyes  dwell  fondly  on  the  fairness  of  her  face,  the  white- 
ness of  her  half-veiled  bosom,  the  delicate  sheeny  dazzle 
of  her  polished  skin,  the  soft  and  supple  curves  of  her 
whole  exquisite  form?  And  spell-bound  by  the  witchery 
of  her  loveliness,  he  almost  forgot  the  very  presence 
of  her  dying  victim.  Occasionally,  indeed,  he  glanced 
at  the  agonized  creature  where  he  lay  huddled  on  the 
ground  in  the  convulsive  throes  of  his  dreadful  death- 
struggle,  but  it  was  now  with  precisely  the  same  quiet 
and  disdainful  smile  as  that  for  which  he  had  momen- 
tarily hated  Sah-luma.  There  was  a  sound  of  singing 
somewhere — singing  that  had  a  mirthful  under-throbbing 
in  it,  as  though  a  thousand  light-footed  fairies  were 
dancing  to  its  sweet  refrain  1  And  Nir-jalis  heard  it; 
dying  inch  by  inch  as  he  was,  he  heard  it,  and  with  a 
last  superhuman  effort  forced  himself  up  once  more  to 
his  feet,  his  arms  stiffly  outstretched,  his  anguished  eyes 
full  of  a  softened,  strangely  piteous  glory. 

"To  die!"  he   whispered  in    awed    accents    that  pene 


THE   LOVE  THAT   KILLS  219 

trated  the  air  with  singular  clearness.  "To  die!  nay, 
not  so!  There  is  no  death!  I  see  it  all!  I  know!  To 
die  if  to  live — to  live  again  and  to  remember — to  remem- 
ber— and  repent — the  past!" 

And  with  the  last  word  he  fell  heavily,  face  forward,  a 
corpse  At  the  same  moment  a  terrific  roar  resounded 
through  the  dome,  and  the  tigress  Aizif  sprang  stealthily 
.iown  from  the  dais,  and  pounced  upon  the  warm,  life- 
less body,  mounting  guard  over  it  in  an  ominously  signifi- 
cant attitude,  with  glistening  eyes,  lashing  tail,  and 
nervously  quivering  claws.  A  slight  thrill  of  horror  ran 
through  the  company,  but  not  a  man  moved. 

"Aizif!  Aizif!"  called  Lysia  imperiously. 

The  animal  locked  round  with  an  angry  snarl,  and 
seemed  for  once  disposed  to  disobey  the  summons  of  its 
mistress,  She  therefore  rose  from  her  throne,  and,  step- 
ping forward,  with  a  swift,  agile  grace  caught  the  sav- 
age beast  by  the  neck,  and  dragged  it  from  its  desired 
prey.  Then,  with  thrj  point  of  her  little  silver-sandaled 
foot,  she  turned  the  fallen  face  of  the  dead  man  slightly 
round,  so  that  she  might  observe  it  more  attentively, 
and  noting  its  livid  disfigurement,  smiled. 

"So  much  for  the  beauty  and  dignity  of  manhood!" 
she  said,  with  a  contemptuous  shrug  of  her  snowy  shoul- 
ders. "All  perished  in  the  space  of  a  few  brief  moments! 
Look  you,  ye  fair  sirs  that  take  pride  in  your  strength 
and  muscular  attainments!  Ye  shall  not  find  in  all  Al 
Kyris  a  fairer  face  or  more  nobly  knit  frame  than  was  pos- 
sessed by  this  dead  fool,  Nir  jalis;  and  yet,  lo!  how  the 
silver  nectar  doth  make  havoc  on  the  sinews  of  adamant, 
the  nerves  of  steel,  the  stalwart  limbs!  Tried  by  the 
touchstone  of  death,  ye  are,  with  all  your  vaunted  intel- 
ligence, your  domineering  audacity  and  self-love,  no 
better  than  the  slain  dogs  that  serve  vultures  for  car- 
rion! Moreover,  ye  are  less  than  dogs  in  honesty,  and 
vastly  shamed  by  them  in  fidelity." 

She  laughed  scornfully  as  she  spoke,  still  grasping 
the  tigress  by  the  neck  in  one  slight  hand,  and  her  glo- 
rious eyes  flashed  a  mocking  defiance  on  all  the  men 
assembled.  Their  countenances  exhibited  various  ex* 
pressions  of  uneasiness  amounting  to  fear;  some  few 
smiled  forcedly,  others  feigned  a  careless  indifference; 
§ah  iuma  flushed  an  angry  red,  and  Theps,  though  he 


1iao  "ARDATH" 

knew  not  why,  felt  a  sudden  pricking  sense  of  shame. 
She  marked  all  these  signs  of  disquietude  with  appar- 
ently increasing  amusement,  for  her  lovely  face  grew 
warm  and  radiant  with  suppressed,  malicious  mirth.  She 
made  a  slight  imperative  gesture  of  command  to  Gazta, 
who  at  once  approached,  and,  bending  over  the  dead 
Nir  jalis,  proceeded  to  strip  off  all  the  gold  clasps  and 
valuable  jewels  that  had  so  lavishly  adorned  that  ill- 
fated  young  man's  attire ;  then  beckoning  another  slave, 
nearly  as  tall  and  muscular  as  himself,  they  attached  to 
the  neck  and  feet  of  the  corpse  round, leaden,  bullet-shaped 
weights,  fastened  by  means  of  heavy  iron  chains.  This 
done,  they  raised  the  body  from  the  floor  and  carried 
it  between  them  to  the  central  and  largest  casement  of 
all  that  stood  open  to  the  midnight  air,  and  with  a  dex- 
terous movement  flung  it  out  into  the  waters  of  the  lake 
beneath.  It  fell  with  a  sullen  splash,  the  pale  lilies  en 
the  surface  rocking  stormily  to  and  fro  as  though  blov.n 
by  a  gust  of  wind,  while  great  circling  ripples  shone 
softly  in  the  yellow  gleam  of  the  moonlight,  as  the  dead 
man  sank  down,  down,  down  like  a  stone  into  his  crys- 
tal-quiet grave. 

Lysia  returned  to  her  throne  with  a  serene  step  and 
unruffled  brow,  followed  by  the  sulky  and  disappointed 
Aizif.  Smiling  gently  on  Theos  and  Sah-luma,she  restated 
herself,  and  touched  a  small  bell  at  her  side.  It  gave  a 
sharp  kling  klang  like  a  suddenly  struck  cymbal,  and 
lo!  the  marble  floor  yawned,  and  the  banquet  table  with 
all  its  costly  fruits  and  flowers  vanished  underground 
with  the  swiftness  of  lightning!  The  floor  closed  again, 
the  broad,  circular  center  space  of  the  hall  was  now  clear 
from  all  obstruction,  and  the  company  of  revelers  reused 
themselves  a  little  from  their  drowsy  postures  cf  half 
inebriated  languor.  The  singing  voices,  that  had  stirred 
Nir-jalis  to  sudden  animation  even  in  his  dying  agony, 
sounded  nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  globe  of  fire  over- 
head changed  its  hue  from  that  of  crimson  to  a  delicate 
pink.  At  the  extreme  end  of  the  glittering  vista  of  pale- 
green  transparent  columns,  a  door  suddenly  opened,  and 
a  flock  of  doves  came  speeding  forth,  their  white,  spread 
wings  colored  softly  in  the  clear  rose-radiance;  they  cir- 
cled round  and  round  the  dome  three  times,  then  flut 
tered  in  a  palpitating  arch  over  Lysia's  head,  and  final!} 


THE   LO/E  THAT  KILLS  221 

sped  straight  across  the  hall  to  the  other  end,  where 
they  streamed  snowily  through  another  aperture  and 
disappeared.  Still  nearer  rippled  the  sound  of  singing, 
and  all  at  once  a  troop  of  girls  came  dancing  noiselessly 
as  fire-flies  into  the  full  quivering  pinkness  of  the  jewel- 
like  light  that  floated  about  them — girls  as  lovely,  as 
delicate,  as  dainty  as  cyclamens  that  wave  in  the  Wbods 
in  the  early  days  of  an  Italian  spring.  Their  garments 
were  so  white,  so  transparent,  so  filmy  and  clinging, 
that  they  looked  like  elves  robed  in  mountain  vapor 
rather  than  human  creatures.  There  were  fifty  of  them 
in  ail,  and  as  they  tripped  forward,  they,  like  the  doves 
that  had  heralded  their  approach,  surrounded  Lysia  flut- 
teringly,  saluting  her  with  gestures  of  exquisite  grace 
and  devout  humility,  while  she,  enthroned  in  supreme 
fairness,  with  her  tigress  crouched  beside  her,  looked 
down  on  them  like  a  goddess  calmly  surveying  a  crowd 
of  vestal  worshipers.  Their  salutations  done,  they 
rushed  pell-mell,  like  a  shower  of  white  rose  leaves  drift- 
ing before  a  gale,  into  the  exact  center  of  the  hall,  and 
there  poising  bird  like,  with  their  snowy  arms  upraised 
as  though  about  to  fly,  they  waited,  their  lovely  faces 
radiant  with  laughter,  their  eyes  flashing  dangerous  al- 
lurements, their  limbs  glistening  like  polished  alabaster 
through  the  gauzy  attire  that  betrayed  rather  than  con- 
cealed their  exquisite  forms.  Then  came  the  soft  pizzicato 
of  pulled  strings,  and  a  twinkling  jangle  of  silver  bells 
beating  out  a  measured,  languorous  rhythm,  and  with  one 
accord  they  all  merged  together  in  the  voluptuous  grace 
of  a  dance  more  ravishing,  more  wild  and  wondrous  than 
ever  poet  pictured  in  his  word-fantasies  of  fairy  land! 
Theos  drank  in  the  intoxicating  delight  of  the  scene 
with  eager,  dazzled  eyes,  and  heavily  beating  heart;  the 
mysterious  passion  of  mingled  love  and  hatred  he  felt 
for  Lysia  stole  over  him  more  strongly  than  ever  in  the 
sultry  air  of  this  strange  night — this  night  of  sweet  de- 
lirium, in  which  all  that  was  most  dangerous  and  erring 
in  his  nature  woke  into  life  and  mastered  his  better  will ! 
A  curious,  instinctive  knowledge  swept  across  his  mind 
— namely,  that  Sah-lw*a' s  emotions  were  the  faithful 
reflex  of  his  own;  but  as  h«  had  felt  no  anger  against 
his  rival  in  fame,  so  now  he  had  no  jealousy  of  his  pos- 
sible rival  in  love.  Their  sympathies  were  too  closely 


222  "ARDATH" 

united  for  distrust  to  mar  the  friendship  so  ardently 
begun;  nevertheless,  as  he  fell  resistlessly  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  glittering  snares  that  were  spread  for 
his  destruction,  he  was  conscious  of  evil  though  he  lacked 
force  to  overcome  it.  At  any  rate  he  would  save  Sah- 
luma  from  harm,  he  resolved,  if  he  could  not  save  him- 
self T  Meantime  he  watched  the  bewildering  evolutions 
and  witching  entanglements  of  the  gliding  maze  of  fair 
faces,  snowy  bosoms,  and  twining  limbs,  that  palpitated 
to  and  fro  under  the  soft  rose  light  of  the  dome,  like 
white  flowers  colored  by  the  sunset,  and,  glancing  ever 
and  again  at  Lysia's  imperial  sorceress  beauty,  he  thought 
dreamily,  "Better  the  love  that  kills  than  no  love  at 
all!"  And  he  thereupon  gave  himself  up  a  voluntary 
captive  to  the  sway  of  his  own  passions,  determining  to 
enjoy  the  immediate  present,  no  matter  what  the  future 
might  have  in  store.  Outside,  the  water-lilies  nodded 
themselves  to  sleep  in  their  shrouding  dark  leaves, 
and  the  unbroken  smoothness  of  the  lake  spread  itself 
out  in  the  moon,  like  a  sheet  of  molten  gold,  over  the  spot 
where  Nir-jalis  had  found  his  chilly  rest.  "The  curse  of 
the  dead  Nir-jalis  shall  cling!"  Yes,  possibly,  in  the 
hereafter;  but  now  his  parting  malison  seemed  but  a  fool- 
ish clamor  against  destiny.  He  was  gone!  None  of  his 
late  companions  missed  him,  none  regretted  him;  like 
all  dead  men,  once  dead  he  was  soon  forgotten ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  STRANGE  TEMPTATION. 

ON  w^nt  the  dance — faster,  faster,  and  ever  faster! 
Only  the  pen  of  some  mirth-loving,  rose  crowned  Greek 
bard  could  adequately  describe  the  dazzling,  wild  beauty 
and  fantastic  grace  of  those  whirling  fairy  forms,  that 
now,  inspired  to  a  bacchante-like  ardor,  urged  one  an- 
other to  fresh  speed  with  brief,soft  cries  of  musical  rap- 
ture, now  intermingling  all  together  in  an  undulating 
garland  of  living  loveliness,  now  parting  asunder  with  an 
air  of  sweet  coquettishness  and  caprice,  anon  meeting 


A  STRANGE  TEMPTATION  22} 

again,  and  winding  arm  within  arm,  till  bending  forward 
in  attitudes  of  the  tenderest  entreaty,  they  seemed,  with 
their  languid,  praying  eyes  and  clasped  hands,  to  be 
waiting  for  love  to  soothe  the  breathless  sweetness  of 
their  parted  lips  with  kisses!  The  light  in  the  dome 
again  changed  its  hue.  From  pale  rose  pink  it  flickered 
to  delicate  amber  green,  flooding  the  floor  with  a  radi- 
ance as  of  watery  moonbeams,  and  softening  the  daintily 
draped  outlines  of  that  exquisite  group  of  human  blos- 
soms, till  they  looked  like  the  dimly  imagined  shapes  of 
nereids  floating  on  the  glistening  width  of  the  sea. 

And  now  the  extreme  end  of  the  vast  hall  began  to 
waver  to  and  fro  as  though  shaken  at  its  foundation  by 
subterranean  forces.  A  flaring  shaft  of  flame  struck 
through  it  like  the  sweeping  blade  of  a  Titan's  sword, 
and  presently,  with  a  thunderous  noise,  the  whole  wall 
split  asunder,  and  recoiling  backward  on  either  side, 
disclosed  a  garden,  golden  with  the  sleepy  glory  of  the 
late  moon,  and  peacefully  fair  in  all  tha  dreamy  attrac- 
tiveness of  drooping  foliage,  of  its  turf,  and  star-sprin- 
kled, violet  sky.  In  full  view,  and  lit  up  by  the  reflected 
radiance  flung  out  from  the  dome,  a  rushing  waterfall 
made  sonorous,  surgy  music  of  its  own,  as  it  tumbled 
headlong  into  a  rocky  recess  overgrown  with  lotus-lilies 
and  plumy  fern.  Hare  and  there,  small  white  and  gold 
tents  or  pavilions  glimmered  invitingly  through  the 
shadows  cast  by  the  great  magnolia  trees,  from  whose 
lovely  half-shut  buds  balmy  odors  crept  deliciously 
through  the  warm  air.  The  sound  of  sweet  pipes  and 
faintly  tinkling  cymbals  echoed  from  distant  shady  nooks, 
as  though  elfin  shepherds  were  guarding  their  fairy  flocks 
in  some  hidden  corner  of  this  ambrosial  pasturage,  and 
ever  by  degrees  the  light  grew  warmer  and  more  mellow 
in  it,  till  it  resembled  the  deep  hue  of  an  autumn  yellow 
sunset,  flecked  through  with  emerald  haze. 

Another  clash  of  cymbals!  this  time  stormily  persistent 
and  convincing — another — yet  another!  and  then  a  chime 
of  bells, a  steady, ringing, persuasive  chime,  such  as  brings 
tears  to  the  eyes  of  many  a  wanderer,  who,  hearing  a 
similar  sound  when  far  away  from  home,  straightway 
thinks  of  the  village  church  of  his  earlier  years,  those 
years  of  the  best  happiness  we  ever  know  on  earth,  be- 
cause we  enjoy  in  them  the  bliss  of  ignorance,  the  glory 


"ARDATH" 

of  youth !  A  curious  stifling  sensation  began  to  oppress 
Thcos'  heart  as  he  listened  to  those  bells;  they  reminded 
him  of  such  strange  things — things  to  which  he  could 
not  give  a  name — things  foolish,  yet  sweet;  odd  sug- 
gestions of  fair  women  who  were  wont  to  pray  for  those 
they  loved,  and  who  believed — alas,  the  pity  of  it — that 
their  prayers  would  be  heard — and  granted  !  What  was 
it  that  these  dear,  loving,  credulous  ones  said,  when  in 
the  silence  of  the  night  they  offered  up  their  patient 
supplications  to  an  irresponsive  Heaven?  "Lead  us  not 
into  temptation  but  deliver  us  from  evil!"  Yes,  he  re- 
membered, those  were  the  words,  the  simple,  wise  words 
that  for  positive,  practical  minds  had  neither  a  meaning 
nor  reason,  and  that  yet  were  so  infinitely  pathetic  in 
their  perfect  humility  and  absolute  trust! 

"Lead  us  not  into  temptation!"  He  murmured  the 
phrase  under  his  breath  as  he  gazed  with  straining  eyes 
out  into  the  languorous  beauty  of  that  grand  scene  that 
spread  its  dewy,  emerald  glamour  before  him,  and  "de- 
liver us  from  evil!"  broke  from  his  lips  in  a  half  sobbing 
sigh,  as  the  peal  of  the  chiming  bells,softened  by  degrees 
into  a  subdued  tunefulness  of  indistinct  and  tremulous 
semitones,  and  the  clarion  clearness  of  the  cymbals 
again  smote  the  still  air  with  forceful  and  jarring  clangor. 
Then,  like  a  rainbow-garmented  Peri  floating  easefulJy 
out  of  some  far  off  sphere  of  sky  wonders,  an  aerial  mai- 
den shape  glided  into  the  full  luster  of  the  varying  light — 
a  dancer,  nude  save  for  the  pearly,  glistening  veil  that 
was  carelessly  cast  about  her  dainty  limbs,  her  white 
arms  and  delicate  ankles  being  adorned  with  circlets  of 
tiny  golden  bells,  which  kept  up  a  melodious  jingle- 
jangle  as  she  moved.  And  now  began  the  strangest 
music — music  that  seemed  to  hover  capriciously  between 
luscious  melody  and  harsh  discord,  a  wild  and  curious 
medley  of  fantastic  minor  suggestions  in  which  the  imag- 
inative soul  might  discover  hints  of  tears  and  folly,  love 
and  madness.  To  this  uncertain  yet  voluptuous  measure 
the  glittering  girl-dancer  leaped  forward  with  a  startling, 
beautiful  abruptness,  and  halting,  as  it  were,  on  the 
boundary  line  between  the  dome  and  the  garden  beyond, 
raised  her  rounded  arms  in  a  snowy  arch  above  her  head, 
and  so,  for  one  brief,  instant,  looked  like  an  exquisite 
angel  ready  to  soar  upward  to  her  native  realm.  Her 


A  STRANGE  TEMF1ATIOH 

pause  Was  a  mere  breathing  space  in  duration.  Drop- 
ping her  ar:ns  again  with  a  swift  decision  that  set  all 
the  little  bells  on  them  clashing  stormily,  she  straight- 
way hurled  herself,  so  to  speak,  into  the  giddy  paces 
of  a  dance  that  was  more  like  an  enigma  than  an  exer- 
cise. Round  and  round  she  floated  wildly,  like  an  opal- 
winged  butterfly  in  a  net  of  sunbeams,  now  seemingly 
shaken  by  delicate  tremors  as  aspen  leaves  are  shaken 
by  the  faintest  wind,  now  assuming  the  most  voluptuous 
eccentricities  of  posture,  sometimes  bending  wistfully 
toward  the  velvet  turf  on  which  she  trod,  as  though  she 
listened  to  the  chanting  of  demon  voices  underground, 
and  again,  with  her  waving  white  hands,  appearing  to 
summon  spirits  downward  from  their  wanderings  in  upper 
air.  Her  figure  was  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  seduc- 
tive grace  of  her  gestures;  not  only  her  twinkling  feet, 
but  her  whole  body  danced;  her  very  features  bespoke 
entire  abandonment  to  the  frenzy  of  her  rapid  move- 
ment ;  her  large  black  eyes  flashed  with  something  of 
fierceness  as  well  as  languor;  her  raven  hair  streamed 
behind  her  like  a  dark  wing;  her  parted  lips  pouted  and 
quivered  with  excitement  and  ardor,  while  ever  and  anon 
she  turned  her  beautiful  head  toward  the  eagerly  atten- 
tive group  of  revelers  who  watched  her  performance, 
with  an  air  of  indescribable  sweetness,  malice,  and  mock- 
ery. Again  and  again  she  whirled,  she  flew,  she  sprang, 
and  wild  cries  of  "Hail,  Nelida!"  "Triumph  to  Nelida!" 
resounded  uproariously  through  the  dome.  Suddenly 
the  character  of  the  music  changed;  from  an  appealing, 
murmurous  complaint  and  persuasion  it  rose  to  a  mar- 
tial and  almost  menacing  fervor;  the  roll  of  drums  and 
the  shrill, reedy  warbling  of  pipes  and  other  fluty  minstrel- 
sy crossed  the  silver  thread  of  strung  harps  and  viols; 
the  light  from  the  fiery  globe  shot  forth  a  new  effulgence, 
this  time  in  two  broad  rays,  one  a  dazzling  pale  azure, 
the  other  a  clear,  pearly  white.  Nelida's  graceful  move- 
ments grew  slower  and  slower,  till  she  merely  seemed 
to  sway  indolently  to  and  fro  like  a  mermaid  rocking 
herself  to  sleep  on  the  summit  of  a  wave;  and  then, 
from  among  the  veiling  shadows  of  the  trees,  there 
stepped  forth  a  man — beautiful  as  a  sculptured  god,  of 
magnificently  moulded  form  and  noble  stature,  clothed 
from  chest  to  knee  in  a  close-fitting  garb  of  what  seemed 


226  "ARDATH* 

to  be  a  thick  network  of  massively  linked  gold.  His 
dark  hair  was  crowned  with  ivy,  and  at  his  belt  gleamed 
an  unsheathed  dagger.  Slowly  and  with  courtly  grace  he 
approached  the  panting  Nelida,who  now, with  half  closed 
eyes  and  slackening  steps,  looked  as  though  she  \\ere 
drowsily  footing  her  way  into  dreamland.  He  touched 
her  snowy  shoulder;  she  started  with  an  inimitable  ges 
ture  of  surprise — a  smile,  brilliant  as  morning,  dawned 
on  her  face;  withdrawing  herself  slightly, she  assumed  an 
air  of  haughtily  sweet  disdain  and  refusal;  then,  capri- 
ciously relenting,  she  gave  him  her  hand, and  in  another 
instant,  to -the  sound  of  a  joyous  melody  that  seemed 
to  tumble  through  the  air  as  billows  tumble  on  the 
beach,  the  dazzling  pair  whirled  away  in  a  giddy  waltz, 
like  two  bright  flames  blown  suddenly  together  by  the 
wind.  No  language  could  give  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
marvelous  bewitchment  and  beauty  of  their  united  move- 
ments, as  they  flew  over  the  dark,  smooth  turf,  with  the 
flower-laden  trees  drooping  dewily  about  them,  and  the 
yellow  moonbeams  like  melted  amber  beneath  their  noise- 
less feet,  while  the  pale  sapphire  and  white  radiations 
from  the  dome,  sparkling  upon  them  aureole -wise,  gave 
them  the  appearance  of  glittering  birds  circling  through 
a  limitless  space  of  luminous  and  never  clouded  ether. 
On,  on!  and  they  scarcely  touched  the  earth  as  they 
spun  dizzily  round  and  round,  their  gracefully  entwined 
limbs  shining  like  polished  ivory  in  the  light — on,  on  ! 
with  ever  increasing  swiftness  they  sped,  till  their  two 
forms  seemed  to  merge  into  one;  when,  as  though  op- 
pressed by  their  own  abandonment  of  joy,  they  paused 
hoveringly,  their  embracing  arms  closing  round  one  an- 
other, their  lips  almost  touching,  their  eyes  reflecting 
each  other's  ardent  looks ;  then — their  figures  grew  less 
and  less  distinct;  they  appeared  to  melt  mysteriously 
into  the  azure,  pearly  light  that  surrounded  them  and 
finally,  like  faint  clouds  fading  on  the  edge  of  a  sea  hori- 
zon, they  vanished!  The  effect  of  this  brief  voluptuous 
dance,  and  its  equall)'  voluptuous  end,  was  simply  inde- 
scribable. The  young  men,  who  had  watched  it  through 
in  silence  and  flushed  ecstasy,  now  sprang  from  their 
touches  with  shouts  of  rapture  and  unrestrained  excite- 
ment, and  seizing  the  other  dancing  maidens  who  had 
till  now  remained  in  clustered,  half  -hidden  groups  bs- 


A  STRANGE  TEMPTATION  227 

h/nd  the  crystalline  columns  of  the  hall,  whirled  them 
off  into  the  inviting  pleasaunce  beyond,  where  the  little 
white  and  gold  pavilions  peeped  through  the  heavy  foli- 
age; and  before  Theos,  in  the  picturesque  hurry  and 
confusion  of  the  scene,  could  quite  realize  what  had 
happened,  the  great  globe  in  the  dome  was  suddenly 
extinguished,  a  firm  hand  closed  imperiously  on  his 
own,  and  he  was  drawn  along  swiftly,  he  knew  not 
whither! 

A  slight  tremor  shook  him  as  he  discovered  that  Sah- 
luma  was  no  longer  by  his  side,  the  friend  whom  he  so 
ardently  desired  to  protect  had  gone,  and  he  could  not 
tell  where.  He  glanced  about  him;  in  the  semi-obscurity 
he  was  able  to  discern  the  sheen  of  the  lake  with  its 
white  burden  of  water-lilies,  and  the  branchy  outlines 
of  the  moonlit  garden,  and — yes — it  was  Lysia  whose 
grasp  lay  so  warmly  on  his  arm — Lysia  whose  lovely, 
tempting  face  was  so  perilously  near  his  own — Lysia  whose 
smile  colored  the  soft  gloom  with  such  alluring  luster! 
His  heart  beat,his  blood  burned;  he  strove  in  vain  to  im- 
agine what  fate  was  now  in  store  for  him.  He  was 
conscious  of  the  beauty  of  the  night  that  spread  its  star- 
embroidered  splendors  about  him,  conscious,  too,  of  the 
vital  youth  and  passion  that  throbbed  amorously  in  his 
\eins,  endowing  him  with  that  keenly  sweet,  headstrong 
rapture  which  is  said  to  come  but  once  in  a  lifetime,  and 
v/hich,  in  the  very  excess  of  its  fond  folly,  is  too  often 
apt  to  bring  sorrow  and  endless  remorse  in  its  train. 
One  moment  more,  and  he  found  himself  in  an  exquis- 
itely adorned  pavilion  of  painted  silk,  faintly  lit  by  one 
lamp  of  tenderest  rose  luster,  and  carpeted  with  gold- 
spangled  tissue.  It  was  surrounded  by  a  thicket  of 
orange  trees  in  full  bloom,  and  the  fragrance  of  the  wax- 
en white  flowers  clung  heavily  to  the  air,  breathing  forth 
delicate  suggestions  of  languor  and  sleep.  The  measured 
rush  of  the  near  waterfall  alone  disturbed  the  deep  si- 
lence, with  now  and  then  the  subdued  and  plaintive 
thrill  of  a  nightingale  soothing  itself  to  rest  with  its  own 
song  in  some  deep-shadowed  copse.  Here,  on  a  couch 
of  heaped  up  stemless  roses,  such  as  might  have  been 
prepared  for  the  repose  of  Titania,  Lysia  seated  herself, 
while  Theos  stood  gazing  at  her  in  fascinated  wonder- 
ment and  gradually  increasing  masterfulness  of  passion 


228  "AR&ATH" 

She  looked  lovelier  than  ever  in  that  dim,  soft,  mingled 
light  of  rosy  lamp  and  silver  moonbeams;  her  smile 
was  no  longer  cold  but  warmly  sweet;  her  eyes  had  lost 
their  mocking  glitter,  and  swam  in  a  soft  languor  that 
was  strangely  bewitching;  even  the  orbed  Symbol  on  her 
white  bosom  seemed  for  once  to  drowse.  Her  lips  parted 
in  a  faint  sigh,  a  glance  like  fire  flashed  from  beneath 
her  black  silken  lashes. 

"Theos!"  she  said  tremulously.    "Theoe!"  and  waited. 

He,  mute  and  oppressed  by  indistinct  hovering  recol- 
lections, fed  his  gaze  on  her  seductive  fairness  for  one 
earnest  moment  longer,  then  suddenly  advancing, he  knelt 
before  her,  and  took  her  unresisting  hands  in  his. 

"Lysia!"  and  his  voice,even  to  his  own  oars,  had  a  sol- 
emn as  well  as  passionate  thrill.  "Lysia.  what  wouldst 
thou  have  with  me?  Speak!  for  my  heart  aches  with 
a  burden  of  dark  memories — memories  conjured  up  by 
the  wizard  spell  of  thine  eyes,  those  eyes  so  cruel-sweet 
that  seem  to  lure  me  to  my  soul's  ruin!  Tell  me,  have 
we  not  met  before — loved  before — wronged  each  other  and 
God  before — parted  before?  Maybe  'tis  tut  a  brainsick 
fancy,  nevertheless,  my  spirit  knows  thee,  feels  thee, 
clings  to  thee,  and  yet  recoils  from  thee  as  one  whom  I 
did  love  in  bygone  days  of  old!  My  thoughts  of  thee 
are  strange,  fair  Lysia!"  and  he  pressed  her  warm,  deli- 
cate fingers  with  unconscious  fierceness.  "I  would  have 
sworn  that  in  the  past  thou  didst  betray  me!" 

Her  low  laugh  stirred  the  silence  into  r  faint,  tuneful 
echo. 

"Thou  foolish  dreamer!"  she  murmured,  half  mocking- 
ly, half  tenderly.  "Thou  art  dazed  with  wine,  steeped 
in  song,  bewitched  with  beauty,  and  knowest  nothing  of 
what  thou  sayest!  Methinks  thou  art  a  crazed  poet,  and 
more  fervid  than  San-luma  in  the  mystic  nature  of  thine 
utterance;  thou  shouldst  be  laureate,  not  he!  What  if 
thou  wert  offered  his  place — his  fame?" 

He  looked  at  her,  surprised  and  perplexed,  and  pa-^sed 
an  instant  before  replying.  Then  he  said  slowly: 

"So  strange  a  thing  could  never  be,  for  SHh-luma's 
place,  once  empty,  could  not  again  be  filled!  I  grudge 
him  not  his  glory-laurels;  moreover,  what  is  frme  com- 
pared to  love!"  He  uttered  the  last  words  in  a  low  tone, 
as  though  he  spoke  them  to  himself;  she  heard,  and  a 
flash  of  triumph  brightened  her  beautiful  face. 


I    STRANGL    TEMPTATION  22Q 

"Ah!"  and  she  drooped  her  head  lower  and  lower  till 
her  dark,  fragrant  tresses  touched  his  brow,  "then  thou 
dost  love  me?" 

He  started.  A  dull  pang  ached  in  his  heart,  a  chill 
of  vague  uncertainty  and  dread.  Love !  was  it  love  in- 
deed that  he  felt?  Love — or  base  desire?  Love!  The 
word  rang  in  his  ears  with  the  same  sacred  suggestive- 
ness  as  that  conveyed  by  the  chime  of  bells.  Surely, 
love  was  a  holy  thing,  a  passion  pure,  impersonal, divine, 
and  deathless,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  somewhere  it 
had  been  written  or  said:  "Wheresoever  a  man  seeketh 
himself,  there  he  falleth  from  love."  And  he,  did  he 
not  seek  himself,  and  the  gratification  of  his  own  imme- 
diate pleasure?  Painfully  he  considered;  it  was  a  supreme 
moment  with  him — a  moment  when  he  felt  himself  to 
be  positively  held  within  the  grasp  of  some  great  arch- 
angel, who,  turning  grandly  reproachful  eyes  upon  him, 
demanded: 

"Art  thou  the  servant  of  love  or  the  slave  of  self?" 
And  while  he  remained  silent,  the  silken  sweet  voice  of 
the  fairest  woman  he  had  ever  seen  once  more  sent  its 
musical  cadence  through  his  brain  in  that  fateful  ques- 
tion: 

"Thou  dost  love  me?" 

A  deep  sigh  broke  from  him;  he  moved  nearer  to  her; 
he  entwined  her  warm  waist  with  his  arms,  and  stared 
upon  her  as  though  he  drank  her  beauty  in  with  his  eyes. 
Up  to  the  crowning  masses  of  her  dusky  hair  where  the 
little  serpents'  heads  darted  forth  glisteningly,  over  the 
dainty  curve  of  her  white  shoulders  and  bosom  where 
the  symbolic  eye  seemed  to  regard  him  with  a  sleepy 
weirdness,  down  to  the  blue-veined  small  feet  in  the  sil- 
very sandals,  and  up  again  to  the  red  witchery  of  her 
mouth  and  black  splendor  of  those  twin  fire  jewels  that 
flashed  beneath  her  heavy  lashes,  his  gaze  wandered 
hungrily,  searchihgly,  passionately;  his  heart  beat  with 
a  loud,  impatient  eagerness,  like  a  wild  thing  struggling 
in  its  cage,  but  though  his  lips  moved,  he  said  no  word. 
She  too  was  silent.  So  passed  or  seemed  to  pass  some 
minutes — minutes  that  were  almost  terrible  in  the  weight 
of  mysterious  meaning  they  held  unuttered.  Then,  with 
a  half  smothered  cry,  he  suddenly  released  her  and  sprang 
erect. 


23O  "ARDATH* 

"Love!"  he  cried.  "Nay — 'tis  a  word  for  children  and 
angels,  not  for  me!  What  have  I  to  do  with  love?  What 
hast  thou — thou,  Lysia,  who  dost  make  the  lives  of  men 
thy  sport  and  their  torments  thy  mockery !  There  is  no 
name  for  this  fever  that  consumes  me  when  I  look  upon 
thee ;  no  name  for  this  unquiet  ravishment  that  draws 
me  to  thee  in  mingled  bliss  and  agony!  If  I  must  perish 
of  mine  own  bitter-sweet  frenzy,  let  me  be  slain  now  and 
most  utterly;  but  love  has  no  abiding  place  'twixt  roe 
and  thee,  Lysia!  Love!  ah,  no,  no!  Speak  no  more  of 
love — it  hath  a  charmed  sound, recalling  to  my  soul  some 
glory  I  have  lost!' 

He  spoke  wildly,  incoherently,  scarcely  knowing  what 
he  said,  and  she,  half  lying  on  her  couch  of  roses,  looked 
at  him  curiously,  with  somber,  meditative  eyes.  A  smile 
of  delicate  derision  parted  her  lips. 

"Of  a  truth,  our  late  feasting  hath  roused  in  thee  a 
most  singular  delirium !"  she  murmured  indolently,  with  a 
touch  of  cold  amusement  in  her  accents.  "Thou  dost 
seem  to  dwell  in  the  past  rather  than  the  present!  What 
ails  thee?  Come  hither,  closer!"  and  she  stretched  out 
her  lovely  arms,  on  which  the  twisted  diamond  snakes 
glittered  in  such  flashing  coils.  "Come:  or  is  thy  man- 
ful guise  mere  feigning,  and  dost  thou  fear  me?" 

"Fear  thee,"  and,  stung  to  a  sudden  heat,  Theos  made 
one  bound  to  her  side,  and  seizing  her  slim  wrists,  held 
them  in  a  vice-like  grip.  "So  little  do  I  fear  thee, 
Lysia,  so  well  do  I  know  thee,  that  in  my  very  caressos 
I  would  slay  thee,  couldst  thou  thus  be  slain!  Thou 
art  to  me  the  living  presence  of  an  unforgotten  sin,  a 
sin  most  deadly  sweet  and  unrepented  of.  Ah!  why  dost 
thou  tempt  me?"  and  he  bent  over  her  more  ardently. 
"Must  I  not  meet  my  death  at  thy  hands?  I  must,  and 
more  than  death!  yet  for  thy  kiss  I  will  risk  hell,  for 
one  embrace  of  thine  I  will  brave  perdition!  Ah,  cruel 
enchantress!"  and  winding  his  arms  about  her,  he  drew 
her  close  against  his  breast  and  looked  down  on  the 
dreamy  fairness  of  her  face.  'Would  there  were  such 
a  thing  as  death  for  souls  like  mine  and  thine!  Would 
we  might  die  most  absolutely  thus,  heart  against  heart, 
never  to  wake  again  and  loathe  each  other!  Who  speaks 
of  the  cool  sweetness  of  the  grave,  the  quiet  ending  of 
all  strife;  the  unbreaking  seal  of  fate,  the  deep  and  stir- 


A  STRANGE  TEMPTATION 

rest?  These  things  are  not,  and  never  were — for 
the  grave  gives  up  its  dead,  the  strife  is  forever  and 
ever  resumed,  the  seal  is  broken,  and  in  all  the  labor- 
ing universe  there  shall  be  found  no  rest,  and  no  for- 
getfulness — ah,  God!  no  forgetfutness!"  A  shudder  ran 
through  his  frame,  and,  clasping  her  almost  roughly,  he 
stooped  toward  her  till  his  lips  nearly  touched  hers. 
"Thou  art  accursed,  Lysia,  and  I  share  thy  curse!  Speak, 
how  shall  we  cheer  each  other  in  the  shadow-realm  of 
fiends?  Thou  shalt  be  queen  there,  and  I  thy  servitor. 
We  will  make  us  merry  with  the  griefs  of  others,  our 
music  shall  be  the  dropping  of  lost  women's  tears,  and 
the  groans  of  betrayed  and  tortured  men,  and  the  light 
around  us  shall  be.  quenchless  fire?  Shall  it  not  be  so, 
Lysia?  and  thinkest  thou  that  we  shall  ever  regret  the 
loss  of  heaven?" 

The  words  rushed  impetuously  from  his  lips;  he 
thought  little,  and  cared  less  what  he  said,  so  long  as 
he  could,  by  speech,  no  matter  how  incoherent,  relieve 
in  part  the  terrible  oppression  of  vague  memories  that 
burdened  his  brain.  But  she,  listening,  drew  herself 
swiftly  from  his  embrace  and  stood  up,  her  large  eyes 
fixed  full  upon  him  with  an  expression  of  wondering 
s:orn  and  fear. 

"Thou  art  mad!"  she  said,  a  quiver  of  alarm  in  her 
voice;  "mad  as  Khosrul  and  all  his  evil  croaking  breth- 
ren! I  offer  thee  love,  and  thou  pratest  of  death.  Life 
is  here  in  all  the  fullness  of  the  now,  for  thy  delight, 
and  thou  ravest  of  an  immortal  hereafter  which  is  not, 
and  can  never  be!  Why  talk  thus  wildly?  Why  gaze 
on  me  with  so  distraught  a  countenance?  But  an  hour 
agone  thou  wert  the  model  of  a  cold  discretion  and  quiet 
valor.  Thus  I  had  judged  thee  worthy  of  my  favor — • 
favor  sought  by  many,  and  granted  to  few;  but  an*  thou 
dost  wander  amid  such  chaotic  and  unreasoning  fancies, 
thou  canst  not  serve  me,  nor  therefore  canst  thou  win 
the  reward  that  would  otherwise  have  awaited  thee." 

Here  she  paused,  a  questioning,  keen  under-glance 
flashed  from  beneath  her  dark  lashes.  He,  however, 
with  pained  wistful,  eyes  raised  steadfastly  to  hers, 
gave  no  sign  of  apology  or  contrition  for  the  disconnected 
strangeness  of  his  recent  outburst,  only  he  became  grad- 
ually conscious  of  an  inward,  growing  calm  as  though  the 


233  "AXDATH" 

divine  Voice  that  had  once  soothed  the  angry  waves 
of  Galilee  were  now  hushing  his  turbulent  emotions  with 
a  soft  "Peace,  be  still!"  She  watched  him  closely,  and 
all  at  once  apparently  rendered  impatient  by  his  impas- 
sive attitude,  she  came  coaxingly  toward  him,  and  laid 
one  soft  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Canst  thcu  not  be  happy,  Theos?"  she  whispered 
gently;  "happy  as  other  men  are  when  loved,  as  thou 
art  loved?" 

His  upturned  gaze  rested  on  the  glittering  serpents' 
heads  that  crowned  her  dusky  tresses,  then  on  the  great 
eye  that  stared  watchfully  between  her  white  breasts. 
A  strong  tremor  shook  him,  and  he  sighed. 

"Happy  as  other  men  are,  when  they  love  and  are  de- 
ceived in  love!"  he  said;  "yes,  even  so,  Lysia.  I  can 
be  happy!" 

She  threw  one  arm  about  him.  "Thou  shall  not  be 
deceived,'  she  murmured  quickly;  "thou  shalt  be  hon- 
ored above  the  noblest  in  the  realm;  thy  dearest  hopes 
shall  be  fulfilled ;  thy  utmost  desires  shall  be  granted— 
riches,  power,  fame — all  shall  be  thine,  if  thou  wilt  do 
my  bidding!" 

She  uttered  the  last  words  with  slow  and  meaning 
emphasis.  He  met  her  eager  burning  looks  quietly, 
almost  coldly.  The  curious,  numb  apathy  of  his  spirit 
increased, and  when  he  spoke, his  voice  was  low  and  faint 
like  the  voice  of  one  who  speaks  unconsciously  in  his 
sleep. 

"What  canst  thou  ask  that  I  will  not  grant?"  he  said 
listlessly.  "Is  it  not  as  it  was  the  old  time — thou  to 
command,  and  I  to  obey?  Speak,  fair  queen!  How 
can  I  serve  thee?" 

Her  anwer  came,  swift  and  fierce  as  the  hiss  of  a 
snake. 

"Kill  Sah-lumar 

The  brief  sentence  leaped  into  his  brain  with  the  swift, 
fiery  action  of  some  burning  drug.  A  red  mist  rose  to 
his  eyes.  Pushing  her  fiercely  from  him,  he  started  to 
his  feet  in  a  bewildered,  sick  horror.  Kill  Sah-luma! 
Kill  the  gracious,  smiling,  happy  creature,  whose  every 
minute  of  existence  was  a  joy!  kill  the  friend  he  loved — 
the  poet  he  worshiped!  Kill  him! — ah,  God!  never! 
never!  He  staggered  back  dizzily,  and  Lysia,  with  a 


A   STRANGE  TEMPTATION  233 

sudden,  stealthy  spring,  like  that  of  her  favorite  tigress, 
threw  herself  against  his  breast  and  looked  up  at  him, 
her  splendid  eyes  ablaze  with  passion,  her  black  hair 
streaming,  her  lips  curved  in  a  cruel  smile,  and  the  hate- 
ful jewel  on  her  breast  seeming  to  flash  with  a  ferocious 
vindictiveness. 

"Kill  him!"  she  repeated  eagerly.  "Now — in  his  sot- 
tish slumber;  when  he  hath  lost  sight  of  his  poet  mission 
in  the  hot  fumes  of  wine;  now,  when,  despite  his 
genius,  he  hath  made  of  himself  a  thing  lower  than  the 
beasts!  Kill  him!  I  will  keep  good  counsel,  and  none 
shall  ever  know  who  did  the  deed  !  He  loves  me,  and 
I  weary  of  his  love  I  would  have  him  dead — dead  as 
Nir-j-alis;  but  were  he  to  drink  the  silver  nectar,the  whole 
city  would  cry  out  upon  me  for  his  loss;  therefore  he 
may  not  perish  so.  But  an'  thou  wilt  slay  him — see!" 
And  she  clung  to  Theos  with  the  fierce  tenacity  of  some 
wild  animal.  "All  this  beauty  of  mine  is  thine — thy  days 
and  nights  shall  be  dreams  of  rapture;  thou  shall  be 
second  to  none  in  Al-Kyris;  thou  shalt  rule  with  me 
over  king  and  people,  and  we  will  make  the  land  a  pleas- 
ure-garden for  our  love  and  joy!  Here  is  thy  weapon" — 
and  she  thrust  into  his  hand  a  dagger,  the  very  dag- 
ger her  slave  Gazra  had  deprived  him  of,  when  by  its 
prompt  use  he  might  have  mercifully  ended  the  cruel 
torments  of  Nir-jalis.  "Let  thy  stroke  be  strong  and 
unfaltering;  stab  him  to  the  heart,  the  cold,  cold,  sel- 
fish heart  that  has  never  ached  with  a  throb  of  pity! 
Kill  him!  'tis  an  easy  task;  for  lo"!  how  fast  he  sleeps !" 

And  suddenly  throwing  back  a  rich  gold  curtain  that 
depended  from  one  side  of  the  painted  pavilion,  she 
disclosed  a  small  interior  chamber  hung  with  amber  and 
crimson,  where,  on  a  low,  much  tumbled  couch,  covered 
»vith  crumpled, glistening  draperies,  lay  the  king's  chief 
minstrel,  the  dainty  darling  of  women,  the  laureate  of 
the  realm,  sunk  in  a  heavy  drunken  stupor,  so  deep  as  to 
be  almost  death-like.  Theos  stared  upon  him  amazed 
and  bewildered.  How  came  he  there?  Had  he  heard 
any  of  the  conversation  that  had  just  passed  between 
Lysia  and  himself?  Apparently  not;  he  seemed  bound 
as  with  chains  in  a  stirless  lethargy.  His  posture  was 
careless  yet  uneasy;  his  brilliant  attire  was  torn  and 
otherwise  disordered,  and  some  of  his  priceless  jewel* 


234  "ARDATH" 

had  fallen  on  the  couch  and  gleamed  here  and  there  like 
big  stray  dewdrops.  His  face  was  deeply  flushed,  and 
his  straight,  dark  brows  were  knit  frowningly;  his  breath- 
ing was  hurried  and  irregular;  one  arm  was  thrown  above 
his  head,  the  other  hung  down  nervelessly,  the  lelaxed 
fingers  hovering  immediately  above  a  costly  jeweled  cup 
that  had  dropped  from  his  clasp;  two  emptied  wine 
flagons  lay  cast  on  the  ground  beside  him,  and  he  had 
evidently  experienced  the  discomfort  and  feverous  heat 
arising  from  intoxication, for  his  silken  vest  was  loosened 
as  though  for  greater  ease  and  coolness,  thus  leaving  the 
smooth  breadth  of  his  chest  bare  and  fully  exposed.  To 
this  Lysia  pointed  with  a  fiendish  glee,  as  she  pulled 
Theos  forward. 

"Strike  now  1"  she  whispered.  "Quick!  Why  dost 
thou  hesitate?" 

He  looked  at  her  fixedly.  The  previous  hot  passion 
he  had  felt  for  her  froze  like  ice  within  his  veins;  her 
fairness  seemed  no  longer  so  distinctly  fair;  the  witching 
radiance  of  her  eyes  had  lost  its  charm,  and  he  motioned 
her  from  him  with  a  silent  gesture  of  stern  repugnance. 
Catching  sight  of  the  sheeny  glimmer  of  the  lake  through 
the  curtained  entrance  of  the  tent,  he  made  a  sudden 
spring  thither,  dashed  aside  the  draperies,  and  flung  the 
dagger  he  held  far  out  toward  the  watery  mirror.  It 
whirled  glittering  through  the  air,  and  fell  with  a  quick 
splash  into  the  silver,  rippling  depths.  And  gravely  con- 
tented he  turned  upon  her,  dauntless  and  serene  in  the 
consciousness  of  power. 

"Thus  do  I  obey  thee!"  he  said  in  firm  tones  that 
thrilled  through  and  through  with  scorn  and  indignation. 
'Thou  evil  beauty!  thou  fallen  fairness!  Kill  Sah-luma? 
Nay,  sooner  would  I  kill  myself — or  thee!  His  life  is  a 
glory  to  the  world — his  death  shall  never  profit  thee!" 

For  one  instant  a  lurid  anger  blazed  in  her  face;  the 
/iext  her  features  hardened  themselves  into  a  rigidly  cold 
expression  of  disdain,  though  her  eyes  widened  with 
wrathful  wonder.  A  low  laugh  broke  from  her  lips. 

"Ah!"  she  cried,  "art  thou  angel  or  demon  that  thou 
darest  defy  me?  Thou  shouldst  be  either  or  both,  to 
array  thyself  in  opposition  against  the  high-priestess  of 
Nagaya,  whose  relentless  will  hath  caused  empires  to 
totter  and  thrones  to  fall!  His  life  a  glory  to  the  world?" 


A.  STRANGE  TCEMPTATiON  335 

she  pointed  to  Sah  luma's  recumbent  figure  with  a 
gesture  of  loathing  and  contempt.  "His?  Ths  life  of 
a  drunken  voluptuary,  a  sensual  egotist!  a  poet  who 
sees  no  genius  save  his  own,  and  who  condemns  all  vice, 
save  that  which  he  himself  indulges  in?  'A  laureled 
swine!  a  false  god  of  art!  And  for  him  thou  dost  reject 
me!  ah,  thou  fool!"  and  her  splendid  eyes  shot  forth  re- 
sentful fire;  "thou  rash,  unthinking,  headstrong  fool! 
thou  knowest  not  what  thou  hast  lost!  Ay,  guard  thy 
friend  as  thou  wilt,  thou  dost  guard  him  at  thine  own 
peril!  Think  not  that  he  or  thou  shall  escape  my  ven- 
geance! What!  dost  thou  play  the  heroic  with  me — 
thou,  who  art  man,  and  therefore  no  hero?  For  men 
are  cowards  all,  except  when  in  the  heat  of  battle  they 
follow  the  pursuit  of  their  own  brief  glory — poltroons 
and  knaves  in  spirit,  incapable  of  resisting  their  own 
passions! — and  wilt  thou  pretend  to  be  stronger  than 
the  rest?  Wilt  thou  take  up  arms  against  thyself  and 
destiny?  Thou  madman!" — and  her  lithe  form  quiv- 
ered with  concentrated  rage — "thou  puny  wretch  that 
dost  first  clutch  at,  and  then  refuse  my  love!  Thou, 
who  dost  oppose  thy  miserable  force  to  the  fate  that 
hunts  thee  down!  Thou,  who  dost  gaze  at  me  with  such 
grave  child-foolish  eyes!  Beware,  beware  of  me!  I  hate 
thee  as  I  hate  all  men!  I  will  humble  thee  as  I  have 
humbled  the  proudest  of  thy  sex!  Wheresoever  thou 
goest  I  will  track  thee  out  and  torture  thee!  And  thou 
shalt  die — miserably,  lingeringly,  horribly,  as  I  would 
have  every  man  die  could  I  fulfill  my  utmost  heart's  de- 
sire! To-night  be  free;  but  to-morrow,  as  thou  livest, 
I  will  claim  thee!" 

Like  an  enraged  queen  she  stood,  one  white  jeweled, 
arm  stretched  forth  menacingly,  her  bosom  heaving,  and 
her  face  aflame  with  wrath;  but  Theos,  leaning  against 
Sah-luma's  couch,  heard  her  with  as  much  impassive- 
ness  as  though  her  threatening  voice  were  but  the  sound 
of  an  idle  wind.  Only  when  she  ceased  he  turned  his  un- 
troubled gaze  calmly  and  full  upon  her,  and  then,  to  his 
own  infinite  surprise,  she  shivered  and  shrank  backward, 
while  over  her  countenance  flitted  a  vague,  undefinable, 
almost  spectral  expression  of  terror.  He  saw  it,  and 
swift  words  came  at  once  to  his  lips — words  that  uttered 
themselves  without  premeditation. 


336  "ARDATH" 

"To-morrow,  Lysia,  thou  shalt  claim  nothing!"  he 
said  in  a  still,  composed  voice  that  to  himself  had  some- 
thing strange  and  unearthly  in  its  tone,  "not  even  a 
grave!  Get  thee  hence!  Pray  to  thy  gods  if  thou  hast 
any,  for  truly  there  is  need  of  prayer!  Thou  shalt  not 
harm  Sah-luma.  His  love  for  thee  may  be  his  present 
curse,  but  it  shall  not  work  his  future  ruin!  As  for  me, 
thou  canst  not  slay  me,  Lysia,  seeing  that  to  myself  I 
am  dead  already — dead,  yet  alive  in  thought — and  thot: 
dost  now  seem  to  my  soul  hut  the  shadow  of  a  past 
crime,  the  ghost  of  a  temptation  overcome  and  baffled: 
Ah,  thou  sweet  sin!" — here  he  suddenly  moved  toward 
her  and  caught  her  hands  hard,  looking  fearlessly  the 
while  at  her  flushed,  half-troubled  face — "I  do  confess 
that  I  have  loved  thee;  I  do  own  that  I  have  found 
thee  fair;  but  now,  now  that  I  see  thee  as  thou  art,  in 
all  the  nameless  horror  of  thy  beauty,  I  do  entreat" — 
and  his  accents  sank  to  a  low  yet  fervent  supplication — 
"I  do  entreat  the  most  high  God  that  I  may  be  re- 
leased from  thee  forever!" 

She  gazed  upon  him  with  dilated,  terrified  eyes,  and 
he  dimly  wondered,  as  he  looked,  why  she  should  seem 
to  fear  him?  Not  a  word  did  she  utter  in  reply.  Step 
by  step  she  retreated  from  him,  her  glittering  exquisite 
form  grew  paler  and  more  indistinct  in  outline,  and 
presently,  catching  at  the  gold  curtain  that  divided  the 
two  pavilions,  she  paused,  still  regarding  him  stead- 
fastly. An  evil  smile  curved  her  lips,  a  smile  of  cold 
menace  and  derisive  scorn.  The  iris-colored  jewel  on  her 
breast  darted  forth  vivid  flashes  of  azure  and  green  and 
gray,  the  snakes  in  her  hair  seemed  to  rise  and  hiss  at 
him,  and  then,  with  an  awful,  unspoken  threat  written 
resolvedly  on  every  line  of  her  fair  features,  she  let  the 
gold  draperies  fall  softly,  and  so  disappeared,  leaving 
him  alone  with  Sah-luma. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  half  amazed,  half  perplexed; 
then,  drawing  a  deep  breath,  he  pushed  the  clustering 
hair  off  his  forehead  with  an  unconscious  gesture  of  re- 
lief. She  was  gone,  and  he  felt  as  though  he  had  gained 
a  victory  over  something,  though  he  knew  not  what.  The 
cool  air  from  the  lake  blew  refreshingly  on  his  heated 
brow,  and  a  thousand  odors  from  orange  flowers  and 
jessamine  floated  caressingly  about  him.  The  night  was 


A  STRANGE  TEMPTATION 

very  still,  and,  approaching  the  opening  of  the  tent,  he 
looked  out.  There,  in  the  soft  sky  gloom,  moved  the 
majestic  procession  of  the  undiscovered  worlds,  seeming 
to  be  no  more  than  bright  dots  on  the  measureless  ex- 
panse of  pure  ether;  there,  low  on  the  horizon,  the 
yellow  moon  swooned  languidly  downward  in  a  bed  of 
fleecy  cloud;  the  drowsy  chirp  of  a  dreaming  bird  came 
softly  now  and  again  from  the  deep-branched  shadows 
of  the  heavy  foliage,  and  the  lilies  on  the  surface  of  the 
lake  nodded  mysteriously  among  the  slow  ripples,  like 
wise  white  elves  whispering  to  one  another  some  secret 
of  fairyland.  And  Sah  luma  still  slept,  and  still  that 
puzzled  and  weary  frown  darkened  the  fairness  of  his 
broad  brow,  and  coming  back  to  his  side,  Theos  stood 
watching  him  with  a  yearning  and  sorrowful  wistfulness. 

Gathering  up  the  jewels  that  had  fallen  out  of  his 
dress,  he  replaced  them  one  by  one,  and  strove  to  re- 
arrange the  tossed  and  tumbled  garb  as  best  he  might. 
While  he  was  thus  occupied  his  hand  happened  to  touch 
the  tablet  that  hung  by  a  silver  chain  from  the  laureate's 
belt.  He  glanced  at  it;  it  was  covered  with  fine  writ- 
irig,  and  turning  it  more  toward  the  light  he  soon  made 
out  four  stanzas,  perfectly  rhymed  and  smoothly  flowing 
as  a  well-modulated  harmony.  He  read  them  slowly  with 
a  faint  smile;  he  recognized  them  as  his  own.  They 
were  part  of  a  poem  he  had  long  ago  begun,  yet  had 
never  finished!  And  now  Sah-Luma  had  the  same  idea! 
Moreover,  he  had  chosen,  the  same  rhyme,  the  same 
words!  Well,  after  all,  what  did  it  matter?  Nothing,  he 
felt,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  He  had  ceased  to  care 
for  his  own  personality  or  interests.  Sah-luma  had  be- 
come dearer  to  him  than  himself! 

His  immediate  anxiety  was  centered  in  the  question 
of  how  to  rouse  his  friend  from  the  torpor  in  which  he 
lay,and  get  him  out  of  this  voluptuous  garden  of  delights 
before  any  lurking  danger  could  overtake  him.  Full  of 
this  intention,  he  presently  ventured  to  draw  aside  the 
curtain  that  concealed  Lysia's  pavilion,  and  looking  in, 
he  saw  to  his  great  relief  that  she  was  no  longer  there. 
Her  couch  of  crushed  roses  scented  the  place  with  heavy 
fragrance,  and  the  ruby  lamp  was  still  burning,  but  she 
herself  had  departed.  Now  was  the  time  for  escape! 
thought  Theos;  now, while  she  was  absent.  Now,  if  Sah- 


238  "ARDATH" 

luma  could  be  persuaded  to  come  away,  he  might  reach 
his  own  palace  in  safety;  and  once  there,  he  could  be 
warned  of  the  death  that  threatened  him  through  the 
treachery  of  the  woman  he  loved.  But  would  he  believe 
in,  or  accept  the  warning?  At  any  rate  some  efiort  must 
be  made  to  rescue  him,  and  Theos,  withour  more  ado. 
pent  above  him  and  called  aloud: 
"Sah-lumal  Wake!  Sah-lumal" 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  TOMBS. 

SAH-LUMA  stirred  uneasily  and  smiled  in  his  sleep. 

"More  wine!"  he  muttered  thickly;  "more,  more  \ 
say.  What!  wilt  thou  stint  the  generous  juice  thMt 
warms  my  soul  to  song?  Pour— pour  out  lavishly!  1 
will  mix  the  honey  of  thy  luscious  lips  with  the  crimson 
bubbles  on  this  goblet's  brim,  and  the  taste  thereof 
shall  be  as  nectar  dropped  from  Paradise!  Nay,  nay! 
I  will  drink  to  none  but  myself — to  the  immortal  bard 
Sah-luma — poet  of  poets — named  first  and  greatest  on 
the  scroll  of  fame!  Ay,  'tis  a  worthy  toast  and  merits 
a  deeper  draught  of  mellow  vintage!  Fill — fill  again! 
The  world  is  but  the  drunken  dream  of  a  god  poet,  and 
we  but  the  mad  revelers  a  of  shadow  day!  'Twill  pass — 
'twill  pass.  Let  us  enjoy  ere  all  is  done — drown  thought 
in  wine  and  love  and  music — wine  and  music — " 

His  voice  broke  in  a  short,  smothered  sigh.  Theos 
surveyed  him  with  mingled  impatience  and  pity  and 
something  of  repulsion,  and  there  was  a  warm  touch  of 
indignant  remonstrance  in  his  tone  when  he  called  again: 

"Sah-luma!  Rouse  thee,  man,  for  very  shame's  sake! 
Art  thou  dead  to  the  honor  of  thy  calling  that  thou  dost 
wilfully  consent  to  be  the  victim  of  wine-bibbing  and  de- 
bauchery? O  thou  frail  soul!  How  hast  thou  quenched 
the  heavenly  essence  within  thee?  Why  wilt  thou  be  thus 
self-disgraced  and  all  inglorious?  Sah-luma!  Sah-Juma!" 
— and  he  shook  him  violently  by  the  arm — "Up, up,  thou 
truant  to  the  faith  of  art!  I  will  not  let  thee  drowse 


THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  TOMBS 

t\ie  hours  away  in  such  unseemliness.  Wake!  for  the 
night  is  almost  past;  the  morning  is  at  hand,  and  dan- 
ger threatens  thee.  Wouldst  thou  be  found  here  drunk 
at  sunrise?" 

This  time  Sah-luma  was  thoroughly  disturbed,  and 
with  a  half-uttered  oath  he  sat  up,  pushed  his  tumbled 
hair  from  his  brows,  and  stared  at  his  companion  in 
blinking,  sleepy  wonderment. 

"Now,  by  my  soul !  thou  art  a  most  unmannerly  ruffian  ! " 
he  said  pettishly,  yet  with  a  vacant  smile;  "what  ques- 
tion didst  thou  bawl  unmusically  in  mine  ear?  Will  I 
be  drunk  at  sunrise!  Ay — and  at  sunset  too,  Sir  Mala- 
pert, if  that  will  satisfy  thee!  Hast  thou  been  grudged 
sufficient  wine,  and  dost  thou  envy  me  my  slumber? 
What  dost  thou  here?  where  hast  thou  been?"  And, 
becoming  more  conscious  of  his  surroundings,  he  sud- 
denly stood  up,  and,  catching  hold  of  Theos  to  support 
himself,  gazed  upon  him  suspiciously  with  very  dim  and 
bloodshot  eyes:  "Art  thou  fresh  from  the  arms  of  the 
lavishing  Nelida?  Is  she  not  fair;  a  choice  morsel  for 
a  lover's  banquet?  Doth  she  not  dance  a  madness  into 
the  veins?  Ay,  ay!  She  was  reserved  for  thee,  my 
j  oily  roisterer,  but  thou  art  not  the  first  nor  wilt  thou 
I'M  the  last  that  hath  reveled  in  her  store  of  charms!  No 
matter!" — and  he  laughed  foolishly — "better  a  wild 
dancer  than  a  tame  prude!"  Here  he  looked  about  him 
f.n  confused  bewilderment.  "Where  is  Lysia?  Was  she 
not  here  a  moment  since?"  and  he  staggered  toward  the 
neighboring  pavilion,  and  dashed  the  dividing  curtain 
aside.  "Lysia!  Lysia!"  he  shouted  noisily.  Then,  re- 
ceiving no  answer,  he  flung  himself  down  on  the  vacant 
couch  of  roses,  and  gathering  up  a  handful  of  flowers, 
kissed  them  passionately.  "The  witch  has  flown!"  he 
said,  laughing  again  that  mirthless,  stupid  laugh  as  he 
spoke.  "She  doth  love  to  tantalize  me  thus!  Tell  me! 
what  dost  thou  think  of  her?  Is  she  not  a  peerless  moon 
of  womanhood?  Doth  she  not  eclipse  all  known  or  im- 
aginable beauty?  Ay!  and  I  will  tell  thee  a  secret — she 
is  mine — mine  from  the  dark  tresses  down  to  the  dainty 
feet — mine,  all  mine,  so  long  as  I  shall  please  to  call 
her  so!  notwithstanding  that  the  foolish  people  of  Al- 
Kyris  think  she  is  impervious  to  love,  self-centered,  holy 
and  'immaculate!'  Bah!  as  if  a  woman  ever  was  'im- 


240  "ARDATH" 

maculate!'  But  mark  you!  though  she  loves  me — me, 
crowned  laureate  of  the  realm — she  loves  no  other  man! 
And  why?  Because  no  other  man  is  found  half  so  worthy 
of  love  All  men  must  love  her.  Nir-jalis  loved  her, 
and  he  is  dead  because  of  over-much  presumption.  And 
many  there  be  who  shall  still  die  likewise,  for  love  of 
her,  but  I  am  her  chosen  and  elected  one ;  her  faith  is 
mine,  her  heart  is  mine,  her  very  soul  is  mine  !  Mine  1 
would  swear,  though  all  the  gods  of  the  past,  present, 
and  future  denied  her  constancy!" 

Here  his  uncertain,  wandering  gaze  met  the  grave, 
pained,  and  almost  stern  regard  of  Theos.  "Why  dost 
thou  st'.re  thus  owl-like  upon  me?"  he  demanded  irrita- 
bly. "Art  thou  my  friend  and  worshiper?  Wilt  preach? 
Wilt  moralize  on  the  folly  of  the  time,  the  vices  of  the 
age?  Thou  lookest  it — but  prithee  hold  thy  peace  an' 
thou  lovest  me!  We  can  but  live  and  die  and  there's 
an  end — all's  over  with  the  best  and  wisest  of  us  soon. 
Let  us  be  merry  while  we  may!" 

And  he  tossed  a  cluster  of  roses  playfully  in  the  air, 
catching  them  as  they  fell  again  in  a  soft  shower  of 
severed,  fluttering  pink  and  white  petals.  Theos  listened 
to  his  rambling,  unguarded  words  with  a  sense  of  acute 
personal  sorrow.  Here  was  a  man,  young,  handsome,  and 
endowed  with  the  rarest  gift  of  nature,  a  great  poetic 
genius — a  man  who  had  attained  in  early  manhood  the 
highest  worldly  fame,  together  with  the  friendship  of  a 
king,  and  the  love  of  a  people — yet  what  was  he  in  him- 
self? A  mere  petty  egotist,  a  poor  deluded  fool,  the  un- 
resisting prey  of  his  own  passions;  the  besotted  slave  of 
a  treacherous  woman  and  the  voluntary  degrader  of  his 
own  life!  What  was  the  use  of  genius  then,  if  it  could 
not  aid  one  to  overcome  self?  What  the  worth  of  fame, 
if  it  were  not  made  to  serve  as  a  bright  incentive  and 
noble  example  to  others  of  less  renown?  As  this  thought 
passed  across  his  mind,  Theos  sighed.  He  felt  curiously 
conscience-stricken,  ashamed,  and  humiliated,  through 
Sah-luma,  and  solely  for  Sah-luma's  sake!  At  present, 
however,  his  chief  anxiety  was  to  get  his  friend  safely  out 
of  Lysia's  pavilion  before  she  should  return  to  it,  and 
his  spirit  chafed  within  him  at  each  moment  of  en- 
forced delay. 

"Come    come,  Sah-luma  1"  he  said  at  last,  gently,  yet 


THE  PASSAGE   OF   THE  TOMBS  24! 

with  persuasive  earnestness.  "Come  away  from  this 
place.  The  feast  is  over,  the  fair  ones  are  gone.  Why 
should  we  linger?  Thou  art  half  asleep.  Believe  me, 
'tis  time  thou  wert  home  and  at  rest.  Lean  upon  me — 
so!  That  is  well!" — this,  as  the  other  rose  unsteadily  to 
his  feet  and  lurched  heavily  against  him — "now  let  me 
guide  thee,  though  of  a  truth  I  know  not  the  way  through 
this  wondrous  woodland  maze.  Canst  tell  me  whither 
we  should  turn,  or  hast  thou  no  remembrance  of  the 
nearest  road  to  thine  own  dwelling?" 

Thus  speaking,  he  managed  to  lead  his  stupefied  com- 
panion out  of  the  tent  into  the  cool,  dewy  garden,  where, 
feeling  somewhat  refreshed  by  the  breath  of  the  nightwind 
blowing  on  his  face,  Sah-luma  straightened  himself,  and 
made  an  absurd  attempt  to  look  exceedingly  dignified. 

"Nay,  and  thou  wilt  depart  with  such  scant  ceremony, " 
he  grumbled  peevishly,  "get  thee  hence  and  find  out 
the  road  as  best  thou  mayest!  Why  should  I  aid  thee? 
For  myself,  I  am  well  contented  here  to  remain  and 
sleep.  No  better  couch  can  the  poet  have  than  this  vio- 
let-scented moss" — and  he  waved  his  arm  with  a  gran- 
diloquent gesture — "no  grander  canopy  than  this  star-be- 
sprinkled heaven!  Leave  me,  for  my  eyes  are  wondrous 
heavy,  and  I  would  fain  slumber  undisturbed  till  the 
break  of  day!  By  my  soul, thou  art  a  rough  companion!" — 
and  he  struggled  violently  to  release  himself  from 
Theos'  resolute  and  compelling  grasp — "where  wouldst 
thou  drag  me?" 

"Out  of  danger  and  the  shadow  of  death!"  replied 
Theos  firmly.  "Thy  life  is  threatened,  Sah-luma,  and 
I  will  not  see  thee  slain!  If  thou  canst  not  guard  thyself, 
then  I  must  guard  thee!  Come,  delay  no  longer,  I 
beseech  thee!  Do  I  not  love  thee,  friend?  And  would 
I  urge  thee  thus  without  good  reason?  O  thou  misguided 
soul!  Thou  dost  most  ignorantly  court  destruction,  but 
if  my  strength  can  shield  thee,  thou  shalt  not  die  before 
thy  time!" 

And  he  hurried  his  pace,  half-leading,  half-carrying 
the  reluctant  poet,  who,  however,  was  too  drowsy  and 
lethargic  to  do  more  than  feebly  resent  his  action.  And 
thus  they  went  together  along  a  broad  path  that  seemed 
to  extend  itself  in  a  direct  line  straight  across  the  grounds, 
but  which  in  reality  turned  and  twisted  abouf  through 


242  "ARDATH" 

all  manner  of  perplexing  nooks  and  corners.  Now  under 
the  trees  so  closely  intei woven  that  not  a  glimpse  of  sky 
could  be  seen  through  the  dense  darkness  of  the  crossed 
boughs;  now  by  gorgeous  banks  of  roses,pale  yellow  and 
white,  that  looked  like  frozen  foam  in  the  dying  glitter 
of  the  moon;  now  beneath  fairy-light  trellis  work,  over- 
grown with  jessamine,  and  peopled  by  thousands  of  danc- 
ing fire-flies,  while  at  every  undulating  bend  or  sharp 
angle  in  the  road,  Theos'  heart  beat  quickly  in  fear  lest 
they  should  meet  some  armed  retainer  or  spy  of  Lysia's 
who  might  interrupt  their  progress,  or  perhaps  peremp- 
torily forbid  their  departure.  Nothing  of  the  kind  hap- 
pened, or  seemed  to  happen.  The  splendid  gardens  were 
all  apparently  deserted,  and  not  a  living  soul  was  any- 
where to  be  seen.  Presently,  through  an  archway  of 
twisted  magnolia  stems,  Theos  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
illuminated  pool  with  the  marble  nymph  in  its  center 
which  had  so  greatly  fascinated  him  on  his  first  arrival, 
and  he  pressed  forward  eagerly,  knowing  that  now  they 
could  not  be  very  far  from  the  gates  of  exit.  All  at  one'; 
the  tall  figure  of  a  man  clad  in  complete  armor  came  into 
sudden  view  between  some  heavily  drooping  boughs. 
It  stood  out  for  a  second,  and  then  hurriedly  disappeared, 
muffling  its  face  in  a  black  mantle  as  it  fled.  Not,  how- 
ever, before  Theos  had  recognized  those  dark,  haughty 
features,  those  relentless  brows,  and  that  stern,  almost 
lurid  smile!  And  with  a  quick  convulsive  movement  he 
grasped  his  companion's  arm. 

"Hist,  Sah-luma!"  he  whispered;  "saw  you  not  the 
king?" 

Sah-luma  started  as  though  he  had  received  a  dagger 
thrust;  his  very  lips  turned  pale  in  the  moonlight. 

"The  king?"  he  echoed,  with  an  accent  of  incredulous 
amazement,  "the  king?  Thou  art  mad!  It  could  not  be! 
Where  didst  thou  see  him?" 

In  silence  Theos  pointed  to  the  dark  shrubbery.  Sah- 
luma  shook  himself  free  of  his  friend's  hold  and,  stand- 
ing erect,  gazed  in  the  direction  indicated,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  mingled  fear,  mistrust,  bewilderment,  and 
wrath  on  his  features.  He  was  suddenly  but  effectually 
sobered,  and  all  the  delicate  beauty  of  his  face  came 
back  like  the  rich  tone  of  a  fine  picture  restored.  His 
hand  fell  instinctively  toward  the  jeweled  hilt  of  the 
ponjard.  at  his  belt. 


THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  TOMBS  243 

"The  king?"  he  muttered  under  his  breath,  "the  king? 
Then  is  Khosrul  right  after  all,  and  must  one  learn  wis- 
dom from  a  madman?  By  my  soul!  if  I  thought — "  Here 
he  checked  himself  abruptly  and  turned  upon  Theos:"Nay, 
thou  art  deceived!"  he  said  with  a  forced  smile,  "'twas 
not  the  king!  'twas  some  rash  unknown  intruder  whose 
worthless  life  must  pay  the  penalty  of  his  trespass!" — 
and  he  drew  his  flashing  weapon  from  its  sheath — "this 
shall  unmask  him!  And  thou,  my  friend,  get  thee  away 
and  home!  Fear  nothing  for  my  safety.  Go  hence  and 
quickly!  I'll  follow  thee  anon!" 

And  before  Theos  could  utter  a  word  of  warning,  he 
plunged  impetuously  into  the  innermost  recesses  of  the 
dense  foliage  behind  which  the  mysterious  armed  figure 
had  just  vanished,  and  was  instantly  lost  to  sight. 

"Sah-luma!  Sah-luma!"  called  Theos  passionately. 
"Come  back!  Whither  wilt  thou  go?  Sah-luma!" 

Only  silence  answered  him,  silence  rendered  even  more 
profound  by  the  subdued,  faint  rustling  of  the  wind 
among  the  leaves;  and  agitated  by  all  manner  of  vague 
alarms  and  dreary  forebodings,  he  stood  still  for  a  mo- 
ment, hesitating  as  to  whether  he  should  follow  his 
friend  or  no.  Some  instinct  stronger  than  himself,  how- 
ever, persuaded  him  that  it  would  be  best  to  continue  his 
road.  He  therefore  went  on  slowly,  hoping  against  hope 
that  Sah-luma  might  still  rejoin  him,  but  herein  he  was 
disappointed  Ha  waited  a  little  while  near  the  illu- 
minated water,  dreamily  eyeing  the  beautiful  marble 
nymph,  crowned  with  her  wreath  of  amethystine  flame. 
She  resembled  Lysia  somewhat,  he  thought,  only  this 
was  a  frozen  fairness,  while  the  perilous  charms  of  the 
cruel  high-priestess  were  those  of  living  flesh  and  blood. 
Yet  the  remembrance  of  all  the  tenderly  witching  loveli- 
ness that  might  have  been  his,  had  he  slain  Sah-luma  at 
her  bidding,  now  moved  him  neither  to  regret  nor  lover's 
passion,  but  only  touched  his  spirit  with  a  sense  of  bit- 
ter repulsion,  while  a  strange  pity  for  the  poet  laureate's 
infatuation  awoke  in  him  pity,  that  any  man  could  b.^  so 
reckless,  blind,  and  desperate  as  to  love  a  woman  for 
her  mere  perishable  beauty  of  body,  and  never  care  to 
know  whether  the  graces  of  her  mind  were  equal  to  the 
graces  of  her  form. 

"We  men  have  yet  to  learn  the  true  meaning  of  love," 


244  "ARDATH" 

he  mused  rather  sadly.  "We  consider  it  from  the  selfish 
standpoint  of  our  own  unbridled  passions;  we  willingly 
accept  a  fair  face  as  the  visible  reflex  of  a  fair  soul,  and 
nine  times  out  of  ten  we  are  utterly  mistaken!  We  be- 
gin wrongly,  and  we  therefore  end  miserably.  We  should 
love  woman  for  what  she  is  and  not  for  what  she  appears 
to  be.  Yet  how  are  we  to  fathom  her  nature;  how  shall 
we  guess;  how  can  we  decide?  Are  we  fooled  by  an 
evil  fate;  or  do  we,  in  our  loves  and  marriages,  deliber- 
ately fool  ourselves?" 

He  pondered  the  question  hazily  without  arriving  at 
any  satisfactory  answer;  and  as  Sah-luma  still  did  not 
return,  he  resumed  his  slow,  unguided,  and  solitary  way. 
He  presently  found  himself  in  a  close  boscage  of  tall 
trees  straight  as  pines,  and  covered  with  very  large, thick 
leaves  that  exhaled  a  peculiarly  faint  odor, and  here, paus- 
ing abruptly,  he  looked  anxiously  about  him.  This  was 
certainly  not  the  avenue  through  which  he  had  previously 
come  with  Sah-luma,  and  he  soon  felt  uncomfortably 
convinced  that  he  had  somehow  taken  the  wrong  path. 
Perceiving  a  low  iron  gate  standing  open  in  front  of 
him,  he  went  thither,  and  discovered  a  steep  stone 
staircase  leading  down,  down,  into  what  seemed  to  be 
a  vast  well,  black  and  empty  as  a  starless  midnight. 
Peering  doubtfully  into  this  gloomy  pit,  he  fancied  he 
saw  a  small  blue  flame  wavering  to  and  fro  at  the  bot- 
tom, and  pricked  by  a  sudden  impulse  of  curiosity  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  descend. 

He  went  down  slowly  and  cautiously,  counting  each 
step  as  he  placed  his  foot  upon  it.  There  were  a  hun- 
dred steps  in  all,  and  at  the  end  the  light  he  had  seen 
completely  vanished,  leaving  him  in  the  most  profound 
darkness.  Confused  and  startled,  he  stretched  out  his 
hands  instinctively,  as  a  blind  man  might  do,  and  thus 
came  in  contact  with  something  sharp,  pointed,  and  icy 
cold,  like  the  frozen  talon  of  a  dead  bird.  Shuddering 
at  the  touch,  he  recoiled,  and  was  about  to  try  and  grope 
his  way  up  the  stairs  again,  when  the  light  once  more 
appeared,  this  time  casting  a  thin,  slanting,  azure  blaze 
through  the  dense  shadows,  and  he  was  able  gradually 
to  realize  the  horrors  of  the  place  into  which  he  had  un- 
wittingly adventured.  One  faint  cry  escaped  his  lips, 
and  then  he  was  mute  and  motionless,  chilled  to  the 


THE   PASSAGE  OF  THE  TOMBS  245 

very  heart.     A  great    awe    and    speechless    dread    over- 
whelmed him,  for  he,  a  living  man  and  fully  conscious  of 
life,  stood  alone,  surrounded  by  a    ghastly    multitude  ol 
skeletons — skeletons  bleached  white  as  ivory  and  glisten- 
ing with  a  smooth,  moist    polish  of    pearl.      Shoulder  to 
shoulder,  arm  against  arm,  they    stood,  placed    upright, 
and  as  close  together  as  possible.    Every  bony  hand  held 
a  rusty  spear,  and  on  every  skull  gleamed  a  small  metal 
casque  inscribed  with  hieroglyphic  characters.   Thousands 
of  eyeless  sockets  seemed    to  turn  toward    him    in  blank 
yet  questioning  wonder,  suggesting   awfully  to  his  mind 
that  the  eyes  might  still  be    there,   fallen    far   back  into 
the  head  from  whence  they  yet    saw,   themselves  unseen; 
thousands  of  grinning  jaws  seemed  to    mock  at    him,  as 
he  leaned  half  fainting    against    the    damp    weed-gro.va 
portal;    he  fancied  he  could  hear    the    derisive    laugh  of 
death     echoing    horribly    through     those    dimly    distant 
arches!     This,  this,  ha  thought    wildly,  was    the  sequel 
to  his  brief  and  wretched  history!     For  this  012  end  hs 
had  wandered  out  of  the    ways  of    his    former    life,   and 
forgotten  almost  all  he  had  ever  known.      Here  was    the 
only  poor   finale  an  all-wise    and    all-potent    God    could 
contrive  for  the  close  of  his  mirvelous  symphony  of  cre- 
ative love  and  light!     Ah,  crusl,  cruel!     Then  there  was 
no  justice,  no    pity,  no    compensation  in    all    the  width 
and  breadth  of  the  universe,  if  dsath  indeed  was  the  end 
of  everything!     And    God,  or  the  Great  Force  called  by 
that  name,  was  nothing  but    a    Tyrant    and    Torturer  ot 
his    helpless    creature,    man!     So     thinking,    dully    and 
feebly,  he  pressed  his  hands  oa  his  aching  eyes,    to  shut 
out  the  sight  of  that  grim  crowd  of  fleshless,  rigid  shapes 
that  everywhere  confronted    him.     The    darkness    of  the 
place  seemed  to  descend  upon  him  crushingly,  and,  reel- 
ing forward,  he  would  have  fallen  in  a  swoon,  had  not  a 
strong  hand  suddenly    grasped  his    arm    and    supported 
him  firmly  upright. 

"How  now,  my  son!"  said  a  grave,  musical  voice  that 
had  in  it  a  certain  touch  of  compassion;  "what  ails 
thee,  and  why  art  thou  here?  Art  thou  condemned  to 
die?  or  dost  thou  saek  an  escape  from  death?'1 

Making  an  effort  to  overcome  the  sick  giddiness  that 
confused  his  brain,  he  looked  up.  A  bright  lamp  flared 
in  his  eyes,  contrasting  so  dazzlingly  with  ths  surround- 


246  "ARDATH*1 

ing  gloom  that  for  a  moment  he  was  half  blinded  by  its 
brilliancy;  but  presently,  steadying  his  gaze,  he  was 
able  to  discern  the  dark  outline  of  a  tall,  black  garmented 
figure  standing  beside  him,  the  figure  of  an  old  rran, 
whose  severe  and  dignified  aspect  at  first  reminded  him 
somewhat  of  the  prophet  Khosrul,  only  that  Khcsrul's 
rugged  features  had  borne  the  impress  of  patient,  long- 
endured  bitter  suffering,  and  the  personage  who  now 
confronted  him  had  a  face  so  calm  and  seriously  impas- 
sive that  it  might  have  been  taken  for  that  of  one  newly 
dead,  from  whose  lineaments  all  traces  of  earthly  passion 
had  forever  smoothed  away. 

"Art  thou  condemned  to  die,  or  dost  then  seek  an  es- 
cape from  death?"  The  question  had,  or  seemed  to 
have,  a  curious  significance.  It  reiterated  itself  almost 
noisily  in  his  ears;  his  mind  was  troubled  by  vague  sur- 
mises and  dreary  forebodings;  speech  was  difficult  to 
him,  and  his  lips  quivered  pathetically  when  he  at  last 
found  force  to  frame  his  struggling  thoughts  into  lan- 
guage. 

"Escape  from  death!"  he  murmured,  gazing  wildly 
round  as  he  spoke,  on  the  vast  skeleton  crowd  that  en- 
circled him.  '  Old  man,  dost  thou  also  talk  of  dream- 
like impossibilities?  Wilt  thou  also  maintain  a  creed  of 
hope  when  naught  awaits  us  but  despair?  Art  thou  fooled 
likewise  with  the  glimmering  soul-mirage  of  a  never  to- 
be  realized  future?  Escape  from  death?  How? — and 
where?  Are  not  these  dry  and  vacant  forms  sufficiently 
eloquent  of  the  al-omnipotence  of  decay?"  and  he  caught 
his  unknown  companion  almost  fiercely  by  the  long  robe, 
while  a  sound  that  was  half  a  sob  and  half  a  sigh  came 
from  his  aching  throat.  "Lo  you,  how  emptily  they  stare 
upon  us!  How  frozen-piteous  is  their  smile!  Poor, 
poor  frail  shapes!  Nay!  who  would  think  these  hollow 
shells  of  bone  had  once  been  men?  Men  with  strong 
hearts,  warm  flowing  blood,  and  throbbing  pulses;  men 
of  thought  and  action,  who,  maybe,  did  most  nobly  bear 
themselves  in  life  upon  the  earth,  and  yet  are  now  for- 
gotten! Men,  ah!  great  Heaven!  Can  it  be  that  these 
most  rueful,  loathly  things  have  loved,  and  hoped,  and 
labored  through  all  their  days  for  such  an  end  as  this? 
Escape  from  death!  Alas,  there  is  no  escape!  'Tis  evi- 
dent we  all  must  die — die,  and  with  dust-quenched  eyes 


THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  TOMBS 

unlearn  our  knowledge  of  the  sun,  the  stars,  the  marvels 
of  the  universe;  for  us  no  more  shall  the  flowers  bloom 
or  the  sweet  birds  sing.  The  poem  of  the  woild  will 
write  itself  anew  in  every  roseate  flushing  of  the  dawn, 
but  we — we  who  have  enjoyed  therein;  we  who  have 
sung  the  praises  of  the  light,  the  harmonies  of  the  wind 
and  sea,  the  tunefulness  of  woods  and  fields;  we  whose 
ambitious  thoughts  have  soared  archangel-like  through 
unseen  empyreans  of  space,  there  to  drink  in  a  honeyed 
hope  of  Heaven — we  shall  be  but  dead!— mute,  cold, 
and  stirless  as  deep,  undug  stones — dead!  Ah,  God, 
thou  Utmost  Cruelty!"  and  in  a  sudden  access  of  grief 
and  passion  he  raised  one  hand  and  shook  it  aloft  with 
a  menacing  gesture.  "Would  I  might  look  upon  thee 
face  to  face,  and  rebuke  thee  for  thy  merciless  injus- 
tice !" 

He  spoke  wildly,  as  though  possessed  by  a  sort  of 
frenzy.  His  unknown  companion  heard  him  with  an  air 
of  mild  and  pitying  patience. 

"Peace — peace!  Blaspheme  not  the  Most  High,  my 
son!"  he  said  gently,  yet  reproachfully.  "Distraught 
as  thou  dost  seem  with  some  strange  misery,  and  sick 
with  fears,  forbear  thine  ignorant  fury  against  him  who 
hath,  for  love's  dear  sake  alone,  created  thee.  Control 
thy  soul  in  patience!  Surely  thou  art  afflicted  by  thine 
own  vain  and  false  imaginings,  which  for  a  time  contort 
and  darken  the  clear  light  of  truth.  Why  dost  thou  thus 
disquiet  thyself  concerning  the  end  of  life,  seeing  that 
verily  it  hath  no  end?  And  that  what  we  men  call  death 
is  not  a  conclusion,  but  merely  a  new  beginning?  Waste 
not  thy  pity  on  these  skeleton  forms — the  empty  dwell- 
ings of  martial  spirits  long  since  fled.  As  well  weep  over 
fallen  husks  of  corn  from  which  the  blossoms  have  sprung 
right  joyously  upward!  This  world  is  but  our  roadside 
hosterly,  wherein  we,  heaven-bound  sojourners,  tarry  for 
one  brief,  restless  night.  Why  regret  the  loss  of  the  poor 
refreshment  offered  thee  here,  when  there  are  a  thousand 
better  feasts  awaiting  thee  elsewhere  on  thy  way?  Come, 
let  me  lead  thee  hence.  This  place  is  known  as  the 
Passage  of  the  Tombs,  and  communicates  with  the  inner 
court  of  the  Sacred  Temple,  and  if,  as  I  fear,  thou  art  a 
stray  fugitive  from  the  accursed  Lysia's  band  of  lovers, 
tbou  mayest  be  tracked  hither  and  quickly  slain.  Come, 


g^.8  *'ARDATH" 

I  will  show  thee  a  secret  labyrinth  by  which  thou  canst 
gain  the  embankment  of  the  river  and  from  thence  be- 
take thyself  speedily  home — if  thou  hast  a  home" — here 
he  paused  and  a  keen,  questioning  glance  flashed  in  his 
dark  eyes.  "But  notwithstanding  thy  fluency  of  speech 
and  fashion  of  attire,  methinks  thou  hast  the  lost  and 
solitary  air  of  one  who  is  a  stranger  in  the  city  of  Al- 
Kyris?" 

Theos  sighed. 

"A  stranger  I  am  indeed!"  he  said  drearily.  "A  stranger 
to  my  very  self  and  all  my  former  belongings!  Ask  n:e 
no  questions,  good  father,  for,  as  I  live,  I  cannot  an- 
swer them!  I  am  oppressed  by  a  nameless  and  mysteri- 
ous suffering;  my  brain  is  darkened;  my  thoughts  but 
half-formed  and  never  wholly  uttered,  and  I,  I  who  once 
deemed  human  intelligence  and  reason  all  supreme,  all 
clear,  all  absolute,  am  now  compelled  to  use  that  rea- 
son reasonlessly,  and  to  work  with  that  intelligence  in 
helpless  ignorance  as  to  what  end  my  rrental  toil  shall 
serve!  Woful  and  strange  it  is — yet  true.  I  am  as  a 
broken  straw  in  a  whirlwind,  or  the  pale  ghost  of  my 
own  identity  groping  for  things  in  a  land  of  shadows. 
I  know  not  whence  I  came,  nor  whither  I  go!  Nay, 
do  not  fear  me.  I  am  not  mad  ;  I  am  conscious  of  my 
life,  my  strength,  and  physical  well-being,  and  though 
I  may  speak  wildly,  I  harbor  no  ill  intent  toward  any 
man — my  quarrel  is  with  God  alone!" 

He  paused,  then  resumed  in  calmer  accents:  "You 
judge  rightly,  reverend  sir.  I  am  a  stranger  in  Al-Kyris. 
I  entered  the  city  gates  this  morning  when  the  sun 
was  high,  and,  ere  noon,  I  found  courteous  welcome  and 
princely  shelter — I  am  the  guest  of  the  poet,  Sah-luma. " 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  half  compassionately. 

"Ah,  Sah-luma  is  thine  host?"  he  said  with  a  touch 
of  melancholy  surprise  in  his  tone.  Then  wherefore 
art  thou  here — here  in  this  dark  abode  where  none  may 
linger  and  escape  with  life?  How  earnest  thou  within 
the  bounds  of  Lysia's  fatal  pleasuance?  Has  the  lau- 
reate's friendship  thus  misguided  thee?" 

Theos  hesitated  before  replying.  He  was  again  moved 
by  that  curious,  instinctive  dread  of  hearing  Sah-luma's 
name  associated  with  any  sort  of  reproach,  and  his  voice 
h.ad  a  somewhat  defiant  ring  as  he  answered: 


THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  TOMBS  249 

"Nay,  surely  I  am  neither  child  nor  woman  that  I 
should  weakly  yield  to  guidance  or  misleading!  Some 
trifling  matter  of  free  will  remains  to  me  in  spite  of  mine 
affliction,  and  that  I  have  supped  with  Sah-luma  at  the 
palace  of  the  high  priestess  has  been  as  much  my  choice 
as  his  example.  Who  among  men  would  turn  aside  from 
high  feasting  and  mirthful  company?  Not  I,  believe 
me  !  And  Sah-luma's  desires  herein  were  but  the  reflex 
of  mine  own!  We  came  together  through  the  woodland, 
and  parted  but  a  moment  since — " 

He  stood  abruptly,  startled  by  a  sudden  clash  as  of 
steel  and  the  tramp,  tramp  of  approaching  feet.  His 
aged  companion  caught  him  by  the  arm  : 

"Hush!"  he  whispered.  "Not  a  word  more — not  a 
breath — or  thy  life  must  pay  the  penalty!  Quick!  Fol- 
low me  close!  Step  softly!  There  is  a  hiding-place 
near  at  hand  where  we  may  crouch  unseen,  till  these 
dread  visitants  pass  by." 

Moving  stealthily  and  with  anxious  precaution,  he 
led  the  way  to  a  niche  hollowed  deeply  out  in  the  thick- 
ness of  the  wall,  and  turning  his  lamp  aside  so  that  not 
the  faintest  glimmer  of  it  could  be  perceived,  he  took 
Theos  by  the  hand,  and  drew  him  into  what  seemed 
to  be  a  huge  cavernous  recess,  utterly  dark  and  icy 
cold. 

Here,  crouching  low  in  the  furthest  gloom,  they  both 
waited  silently,  Theos  ignorant  as  to  the  cause  of  the 
sudden  alarm,  and  wondering  vaguely  what  strange  new 
circumstance  was  about  to  happen.  The  measured  tramp, 
tramp  of  feet  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  in  another 
moment  the  flare  of  smoking  torches  illumined  the 
vaulted  passage,  casting  many  a  ruddy  flicker  and  flash 
on  the  ivory-gleaming  whiteness  of  the  vast  skeleton 
army,  that  stood  with  such  grim  and  pallid  patience,  as 
though  waiting  for  a  marching  signal. 

Presently  there  appeared  a  number  of  half-naked  men, 
carrying  short  axes  stained  with  blood — coarse,  savage, 
cruel-looking  brutes  all,  whose  lowering  faces  bore  the 
marks  of  a  thousand  unrepented  crimes.  These  were  fol- 
lowed by  four  tall  personages  clad  in  flowing  white  robes 
and  closely  masked,  and  finally  there  came  a  band  of 
black  slaves  clothed  in  vivid  scarlet,  dragging  between 
them  two  writhing,  bleeding  creatures— one  a  man,  the 


250  "ARDATH" 

other  a  girl  in  her  earliest  youth,  both  convulsed  by  the 
evident  last  agonies  of  death. 

Arrived  at  the  center  of  that  part  of  the  vault  where 
the  skeleton  crowd  was  thickest,  this  horrible  cortege 
halted,  while  6ne  of  the  masked  personages  undid  from 
his  girdle  a  large  bunch  of  keys.  And  now  Theos,  watch- 
ing everything  with  dreadful  interest  from  the  obscure 
corner  where  he  was,  thanks  to  his  unknown  friend,  suc- 
cessfully concealed,  perceived  for  the  first  time  a  low 
iron  door,  heavily  barred,  and  surmounted  by  sharp 
spikes  as  long  as  drawn  daggers.  When  this  dreary 
portal  was,  with  many  a  jarring  groan  and  clang,  slowly 
opened,  such  an  awful  cry  broke  from  the  lips  of  the 
tortured  man  as  might  have  wrung  compassion  from  the 
most  hardened  tyrant.  Wresting  himself  fiercely  out 
of  the  grasp  of  the  slaves  who  held  him,  he  struggled  to 
'his  feet,  while  the  blood  poured  from  the  cruel  wounds 
that  were  inflicted  all  over  his  body,  and  raising  his 
manacled  hands  aloft  he  cried: 

"Mercy!  Mercy!  Not  for  me,  but  for  her — for  her, 
my  love,  my  life,  my  tenderest  little  one!  What  is  her 
crime,  ye  fiends?  Why  do  ye  deem  love  a  sin  and  pas- 
sion a  dishonor?  Shall  there  be  no  more  heart  longings 
because  ye  are  cold?  Spare  her!  She  is  so  young,  so 
fond,  so  innocent  of  all  reproach  save  one,  the  shame  of 
loving  me!  Spare  her!  or,  if  ye  will  not  spare,  slay 
her  at  once!  Now — now,  with  swift, compassionate  sword, 
but  cast  her  not  alive  into  yon  hideous  serpent's  den! 
— not  alive — ah  no,  no — ye  gods,  have  pity! — " 

Here  his  voice  broke  and  a  sudden  light  passed  over 
his  agonized  countenance.  Gazing  steadfastly  at  the 
girl,  whose,  beautiful  white  body  now  lay  motionless  on 
the  cold  stone,  with  a  cloud  of  fair  hair  falling  veil-like 
over  it,  his  eyes  seemed  to  strain  themselves  out  of  their 
sockets  in  the  intenity  of  his  eager  regard — when  all  at 
once  he  gave  vent  to  a  wild  peal  of  delirious  laughter 
and  exclaimed: 

"Dead — dead!  Thanks  be  to  the  merciless  gods  for  this 
one  gift  of  grace  at  the  last!  Dead— dead!  Oh,  the 
blessed  favor  and  freedom  of  death!  Sweetheart,  they 
can  torture  thee  no  more!  Ah,  devils  that  ye  are!"  and 
his  voice,  grown  frantically  loud,  pierced  the  gloomy 
arches  with  terrible  resonance,  as  he  saw  the  red-gar« 


ITKE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  TOMBS  35! 

mented  slaves  vainly  endeavoring  to  rouse,  with  fero- 
cious blows  and  thrusts,  new  life  in  the  fair,  stiffening 
corpse  before  them.  "This  time  ye  are  baffled!  Baffled 
— and  I  live  to  see  your  vanquishment!  Give  her  to  me!" 
and  he  stretched  out  his  trembling  arms.  "Give  her;  she 
is  dead,  and  ye  cannot  offer  to  Nagaya  any  lifeless  thing! 
I  will  weave  her  a  shroud  of  her  own  gold  hair;  I  will 
bury  her  softly  away  in  the  darkness;  I  will  sing  to  her 
as  I  used  to  sing  in  the  silent  summer  evenings,  when 
we  fancied  our  secret  of  forbidden  love  unknown,  and 
with  my  lips  on  hers,  I  will  pray — pray  for  the  pardon 
of  passion  grown  stronger —than — life! — " 

He  ceased,  and  swaying  forward,  fell.  A  shiver  ran 
through  his  limbs,  one  deep,  gasping  sigh,  and  all  was 
over.  The  band  of  torturers  gathered  round  the  body, 
uttering  fierce  oaths  and  exclamations  of  dismay. 

"Both  dead!"  said  one  of  the  individuals  in  white. 
"'Tis  a  most  fatal  augury!" 

"Fatal  indeed!"  said  another,  and  turning  to  the  men 
with  the  blood-stained  axes,  he  added  angrily:  "Ye  were 
too  swift  and  lavish  of  your  weapons;  ye  should  have  let 
these  criminals  suffer  slowly  inch  by  inch,  and  yet  have 
left  them  life  enough  wherewith  to  linger  on  in  anguish 
many  hours." 

The  wretches  thus  addressed  looked  sullen  and  humil- 
iated, and  approaching  the  two  corpses  would  have  bru- 
tally inflicted  fresh  wounds  on  them  had  not  the  seeming 
chief  of  the  party  interfered. 

"Let  be,  let  be!"  he  said  austerely.  "Ye  cannot  cause 
the  dead  to  feel — would  that  it  were  possible!  Then 
might  the  glorious  and  godlike  thirst  of  vengeance  in  our 
great  high-priestess  be  somewhat  more  appeased  in  this 
matter.  For  the  unlawful  communion  of  love  between  a 
vestal  virgin  and  an  anointed  priest  cannot  be  too  ut- 
terly abhorred  and  condemned,  and  these  twain,  who  thus 
did  foully  violate  their  vows,  have  perished  far  too  eas- 
ily. The  sanctity  of  the  temple  has  been  outraged,  Ly- 
sia  will  not  be  satisfied,  and  how  shall  we  pacify  her 
righteous  wrath,  concerning  this  too  tranquil  death  of 
the  undeserving  and  impure?" 

Drawing  all  together  in  a  close  group, they  held  a  whis- 
pered consultation,  and  finally,  appearing  to  have  come 
to  some  sort  of  decision,  they  took  up  the  dead  bodie? 


one  after  another,  and  flung  them  carelessly  into  the  dark 
aperutre  lately  unclosed.  As  they  did  this,  a  stealthy 
rustling  sound  was  heard,  as  of  some  great  creature  mov- 
ing to  and  fro  in  the  far  interior,  but  they  soon  locked 
and  barred  the  iron  portal  once  more,  and  then  took 
their  departure  rather  hurriedly,  leaving  the  vault  by 
the  way  Theos  had  entered  it — namely,  up  the  stone 
stairway  that  led  into  Lysia's  palace  gardens.  As  the 
last  echo  of  their  retreating  steps  died  away  and  the  last 
glimmer  of  their  lurid  torches  vanished,  Theos  sprang 
out  from  his  hiding  place.  His  venerable  companion 
slowly  followed. 

"O  God!  Can  such  things  be!"  he  cried  loudly,  reck' 
less  of  all  possible  risk  for  himself  as  his  voice  rang 
penetratingly  through  the  deep  silence.  "Were  these 
brute  murderers  actual  men,  or  but  the  wandering,  grim 
shadows  of  some  long  past  crime?  Nay,  surely  I  do  but 
dream;  and  ghouls  and  demons  born  out  of  nightmare 
sleep  do  vex  my  troubled  spirit!  Justice — justice  for  the 
innocent!  Is  there  none  in  all  Al-Kyris?" 

"NoneT'replied  the  old  man  who  stood  beside  him, 
lamp  in  hand,  fixing  his  dark,  melancholy  eyes  upon  him 
as  he  spoke.  'None — neither  in  Al-Kyris  nor  in  any 
other  great  city  on  the  peopled  earth.  Justice?  I,  who 
am  named  Zuriel  the  Mystic,  because  of  my  tireless 
searching  into  things  that  are  hidden  from  the  unstudious 
and  unthinking,  I  know  that  justice  is  an  idle  name,  an 
empty  braggart-word  forever  on  the  mouths  of  kings  and 
judges,  but  never  in  their  hearts.  Moreover, what  is  guilt, 
what  is  innocence?  Both  must  be  defined  according  to 
the  law  of  the  realm  wherein  we  dwell,  and  from  that 
law  there  can  be  no  appeal.  These  men  we  lately  saw 
were  the  chief  priests  and  executioners  of  the  Sacred 
Temple.  They  have  simply  fulfilled  their  duty.  The 
culprits  slain  deserved  their  fate.  They  loved  where  lov- 
ing was  forbidden.  Torture  and  death  was  the  strictly 
ordained  punishment,  and  herein  was  justice — justice  as 
portioned  out  by  the  penal  code  of  the  high  court  of 
council." 

Theos  heard,  and  gave  an  expressive  gesture  of  loath- 
ing and  contempt. 

"O  narrow  jurisdiction!  O  short-sighted,  false  equity!" 
he  exclaimed  passionately.  "Are  there  different  laws  for 


THE   PASSAGE   OF  THE   TOMBS  253 

high  and  low?  Must  the  weak  and  defenseless  be  con- 
demned to  death  for  the  self-same  sin  committed  openly 
by  their  more  powerful  brethren  who  yet  escape  scot- 
free?  What  of  the  high  priestess,  then?  If  these  poor 
lover-victims  merited  their  doom,  why  is  not  Lysia  slain? 
Is  not  she  a  willingly  violated  vestal?  Doth  she  not 
count  her  lovers  by  the  score?  Are  riot  her  vows  long 
since  broken?  Is  not  her  life  a  life  of  wanton  luxury 
and  open  shame?  Why  doth  the  law,  beholding  these 
things,  remain  in  her  case  dumb  and  ineffectual?" 

"Hush,  hush,  my  son!"  said  the  aged  Zuriel  anxiously. 
"These  stone  walls  hear  thee  far  too  loudly.  Who  knows 
but  they  may  echo  forth  thy  words  to  unsuspected  listen- 
ers? Peace — peace!  Lysia  is  as  much  queen  as  Zepho- 
ranim  is  king  of  Al-Kyris,  and  surely  thou  knowest  that 
the  sins  of  tyrants  are  accounted  virtues  so  long  as  they 
retain  their  ruling  powers?  The  public  voice  pronounces 
Lysia  chaste,  and  Zephoranim  faithful.  Who  then  shall 
dare  to  disprove  the  verdict?  'Tis  the  same  in  all  coun- 
tries, near  and  far — the  law  serves  the  strong  while  pro- 
fessing to  defend  the  weak.  The  rich  man  gains  his 
cause — the  beggar  loses  it.  How  can  it  be  otherwise, 
while  lust  of  gold  prevails?  Gold  is  the  moving  force 
of  this  our  era.  Without  it  kings  and  ministers  are  im- 
potent and  armies  starve;  with  it,  all  things  can  be  ac- 
complished, even  to  the  concealment  of  the  foulsst  crimes. 
Come,  come!" — and  he  laid  one  hand  kindly  on  Theos" 
arm — "thou  hast  a  generous  and  fiery  spirit,  but  thou 
shouldst  never  have  been  born  into  this  planet  if  thou 
seekest  such  a  thing  as  justice!  No  man  will  ever  deal 
true  justice  to  his  fellow-man  on  earth,  unless  perhaps 
in  ages  to  come,  when  the  old  creeds  are  swept  away 
for  new,  and  a  grander,  wider,  purer  form  of  faith  is  ac- 
cepted by  the  people.  For  religion  in  Al-Kyris  to-day 
is  a  hollow  mockery — a  sham,  kept  up  partly  from  fear, 
partly  from  motives  of  policy;  but  every  thinker  is  an 
atheist  at  heart.  Our  splendid  civilization  is  tottering 
toward  its  fall,  and  should  the  fore-doomed  destruction 
of  this  city  come  to  pass,  vast  ages  of  progress,  dicov- 
ery,  and  invention  will  be  swept  away  as  though  they 
had  never  been!" 

He  paused  and  sighed,  then  continued  sorrowfully; 
"There  is,  there  must  be  something  wrong  in  the  mecb 


254  "ARDATH** 

anism  of  life.some  little  hitch  that  stops  the  even  wheel, 
some  curious  perpetual  mischance  that  crosses  us  at  every 
turn;  but  1  doubt  not  all  is  for  the  best,  and  will  prove 
most  truly  so  hereafter!" 

"Hereafter!"  echoed  Theos  bitterly.  "Thinkest  thou 
that  even  God,  repenting  of  the  evil  he  hath  done,  will 
ever  be  able  to  compensate  us  by  any  future  bliss,  for 
all  the  needless  anguish  of  the  present?" 

Zuriel  looked  at  him  with  a  strange,  almost  spectral 
expression  of  mingled  pity,  fear,  and  misgiving;  but  he 
offered  no  reply  to  this  home-thrust  of  a  question.  In 
grave  silence  and  with  slow,  majestic  tread  he  began  to 
lead  the  way  along  through  the  dismal  labyrinth  of  black, 
winding  arches,  holding  his  blue  lamp  aloft  as  he  went, 
the  better  to  lighten  the  dense  gloom. 

Theos  followed  him,  silent  also,  and  wrapped  in  stern 
and  mournful  musings  of  his  own — musings  through  which 
faint  threads  of  pale  recollection  connected  with  his  past 
glimmered  hazily  from  time  to  time,  perplexing  rather 
than  enlightening  his  bewildered  brain. 

Presently  he  found  himself  in  a  low,  narrow  vestibule 
illumined  by  the  bright  yet  soft  radiance  of  a  suspended 
star  and  here,  coming  close  up  with  his  guide  and  ob- 
serving his  dress  and  manner  more  attentively,  he  sud- 
denly perceived  a  shining  something  which  the  old  man 
wore  hanging  from  his  neck  and  which  flashed  against 
the  sable  hue  of  his  garment  like  a  wandering  moonbeam. 

Stopping  abruptly,  he  examined  this  ornament  with 
straining,  wistful  gaze,  and  slowly,  very  slowly,  recog- 
nized its  fashion  of  construction.  It  was  a  plain  silver 
cross — nothing  more.  Yet  at  sight  of  the  sacred,  strange 
yet  familiar  symbol,  a  cord  seemed  to  snap  in  his  brain. 
Tears  rushed  to  his  tired  eyes,  and,  with  a  sharp  cry,  he 
fell  on  his  knees,  grasping  his  companion's  robe  wildly, 
as  a  drowning  man  grasps  at  a  floating  spar,  while  the 
venerable  Zuriel,  startled  at  this  action,  stared  down 
upon  him  in  evident  amazement  and  terror. 

"Rescue!  Rescue!"  he  cried.  "O  thou  blessed  among 
men!  Thou  dost  wear  the  sign  of  eternal  safety — the 
sign  of  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life!  'Without  the 
way  there  is  no  going,  without  the  truth  there  is  no 
knowing,  without  the  life  there  is  no  living!'  Now  do 
I  know  thee  for  a  saint  in  Al-Kyris,  for  thou  dost  openly 


THE  CRIMSON  RIVER  355 

avow  thyself  a  follower  of  the  divine  faith  that  fools 
despise  and  selfish  souls  repudiate.  Ah!  I  do  beseech 
thee,  thou  good  and  holy  man,  absolve  me  of  my  sin  of 
unbelief !  Teach  me — help  me — and  I  will  hear  thy  coun- 
sels with  the  meekness  of  a  listening  child!  See  you,  I 
kneel!  I  pray!  I,  even  I,  am  humiliated  to  the  very  dust 
of  shame!  I  have  no  pride;  I  seek  no  glory;  I  do  entreat, 
even  as  I  once  rejected,  the  blessing  of  the  cross,  where- 
by I  shall  regain  my  lost  love,  my  despised  pardon,  my 
vanished  peace!" 

And  with  pathetic  earnestness  he  raised  his  hands 
toward  the  silver  emblem,  and  touched  it  tenderly,  rev- 
erently. Then,  as  though  unworthy,  he  bent  his  head 
low  and  waited  eagerly  for  a  name,  a  name  that  he  him- 
self could  not  remember,  a  name  suggested  by  the  cross, 
but  not  declared.  If  that  name  were  once  spoken  in  the 
form  of  a  benediction,  he  felt  instinctively  that  he  would 
straightway  be  released  from  the  mysterious  spell  of  mis- 
ery that  bound  his  intelligence  in  such  a  grievous  thrall. 
But  not  a  word  of  consolation  did  his  companion  utter. 
On  the  contrary,  he  seemed  agitated  by  the  strangest 
surprises  and  alarm. 

"Now  may  all  the  gods  in  heaven  defend  thee,  thou 
unhappy,  desperate,  distracted  soul!"  he  said  in  trem- 
bling, affrighted  accent.  "Thou  dost  implore  the  blessing 
of  a  faith  unknown,  a  mystery  predicted  but  not  yet  ful- 
filled, a  creed  that  shall  not  be  declared  to  men  for  full 
five  thousand  years!" 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  CRIMSON  RIVER. 

AT  these  unexpected  words  Theos  sprang  wildly  to  his 
feet.  An  awful  darkness  seemed  to  close  in  upon  him, 
and  a  chaotic  confusion  of  memories  began  to  whirl  and 
drift  through  his  mind  like  flotsam  and  jetsam  tossed 
upon  a  storm-swept  sea.  The  aged  and  shadowy-  looking 
Zuriel  stood  motionless,  watching  him  with  something 
of  timid  pity  and  mild  patience. 

"Five  thousand  years!"  he    muttered   hoarsely,  pressing 


256  "ARDATH11 

his  hands  to  his  aching  brows,  while  his  eyes  again  fixed 
themselves  yearningly  on  the  cross.  "Five  thousand 
years  before — before  what?" 

He  caught  the  old  man's  arm,  and,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, a  laugh,  wild,  discordant,  and  out  of  keeping  with 
his  inward  emotions,  broke  from  his  parched  lips.  "Thou 
doting  fool,"  he  cried,  almost  furiously.  "Why  dost 
thou  mock  me,  then,  with  this  false  image  of  a  hope  un- 
realized? Who  gave  thee  leave  to  add  more  fuel  to  my 
flame  of  torment?  What  means  this  symbol  to  thine 
eyes?  Speak,  speak!  What  admonition  does  it  hold 
for  thee;  what  promise;  what  menace;  what  warning; 
what  love?  Speak — speak!  Oh,  shall  I  force  confession 
from  thy  throat  or  must  I  die  unsatisfied  and  slain  by 
speechless  longing!  What  didst  thou  say — five  thousand 
years?  Nay,  by  the  gods,  thou  liest!"  and  he  pointed 
excitedly  to  the  sacred  emblem.  "I  tell  thee  that  holy 
sign  is  as  familiar  to  my  suffering  soul  as  the  chiming  of 
bells  at  sunset!  as  well  known  to  my  sight  as  the  unfold- 
ing of  flowers  in  the  fields  of  spring!  What  shall  be 
done  or  said  of  it,  in  five  thousand  years,  that  has  not 
already  been  said  and  done?" 

Zuriel  regarded  him  more  compassionately  than  ever, 
with  a  penetrating,  mournful  expression  in  his  serious 
dark  eyes. 

"Alas,  alas,  my  son!  thou  art  most  grievously  dis- 
traught!'* he  said  in  troubled  tones.  'Thy  words  but 
prove  the  dark  disorder  of  thy  wits.  May  Heaven  soon 
heal  thee  of  thy  mental  wound!  Restrain  thy  wild  and 
wandering  fancies;  for  surely  thou  canst  not  be  farriliar, 
as  thou  sayest,  with  this  silver  symbol,  seeing  that  it  is 
but  the  talisman*  or  badge  of  the  Mystic  Brethren  o*  Al- 
Kyris,  and  has  no  signification  whatsoever  save  for  the 
elect.  It  was  designed  some  twenty  years  ago  by  the 
inspired  chief  of  our  order,  Khosrul,  and  such  as  are  still 
his  faithful  disciples  wear  it  as  a  record  and  constant 
reminder  of  its  famous  prophecy." 

Theos  heard,  and  a  dull  apathy  stole  over  him.  His 
recent  excitement  died  out  under  the  chilling  weight  of 
Vague  yet  bitter  disappointment. 

"And  this  prophecy?"  he  asked  listlessly.  "What  is 
its  nature  and  whom  doth  it  concern?" 

*  The  cross  was  held  in  singular  veneration  in  the  temple  of  Serapis, 
and  by  many  tribes  io  the  East,  ages  before  the  coming  of  Christ. 


THE  CRIMSON  RIVER  257 

c'Nay,  in  very  truth  it  is  a  strange  and  marvelous 
thing!"  replied  Zuriel,  his  calm  voice  thrilling  with  a 
mellow  touch  of  fervor.  "Khosrul,  'tis  said,  has  heard 
the  angels  whispering  in  Heaven,  and  his  attentive  ears 
iiave  caught  the  echo  of  their  distant  speech.  Thus, 
spiritually  instructed,  he  doth  powerfully  predict  salva- 
tion for  the  human  race,  and  doth  announce,  that  in  five 
thousand  years  or  more  a  God  shall  be  moved  by  won- 
drous mercy  to  descend  from  Heaven,  and  take  the  form 
of  man,  wherein,  unknown,  despised,  rejected,  he  will 
live  our  life  from  commencement  to  finish,  teaching, 
praying,  and  sanctifying  by  his  divine  presence  the  whole 
sin-burdened  earth.  This  done,  he  will  consent  to  suffer 
a  most  cruel  death,  and  the  manner  of  his  death  will  be 
that  he  shall  hang,  nailed  hands  and  feet  to  a  cross,  as 
though  he  were  a  common  criminal.  His  holy  brows 
shall  be  bound  about  with  thorns,  and  after  hours  of 
agony  he,  innocent  of  every  sin,  shall  perish  miserably, 
friendless,  unpitied,  and  alone.  But  afterward — and 
mark  you!  this  is  the  chiefest  glory  of  all — he  will  rise 
again  triumphant  from  the  grave  to  prove  his  Godhead, 
and  to  convince  mankind  beyond  all  doubt  and  question 
that  there  is  indeed  an  immortal  hereafter — an  actual 
free  eternity  of  life,  compared  with  which  this,  our 
transient  existence,  is  a  mere  brief  breathing  space  of 
pause  and  probation,  and  then  for  evermore  his  sacred 
name  shall  dominate  and  civilize  the  world — " 

"What  name?"  interrupted  Theos  with  eager  abrupt- 
ness. "Canst  thou  pronounce  it  ?" 

Zureil  shook  his  head. 

"Not  I,  my  son,"  he  answered  gravely.  "Not  even 
Khosrul  can  penetrate  thus  far !  The  name  of  him  who 
is  to  come  is  hidden  deep  among  God's  unfathomed 
silences!  It  should  suffice  thee  that  thou  knowest  now 
the  sum  and  substance  of  the  prophecy.  Would  I  might 
live  to  see  the  days  when  all  shall  be  fulfilled!  But,  alas! 
my  remaining  years  are  few  upon  the  earth,  and  Heaven's 
time  is  not  ours!" 

He  sighed,  and  resumed  his  slow  pacing  onward. 
Theos  walked  beside  him  as  a  man  may  walk  in  sleep, 
uncertainly  and  with  unseeing  eyes,  his  heart  beating 
loudly,  and  a  sick  sense  of  suffocation  in  his  throat. 
What  did  it  all  meant  Had  his  life  gone  back  in  some 


2j>3  "ARDATH" 

strange  way ;  or  had  he  merely  dreamed  of  a  former  ex- 
istence  different  to  this  one?  He  remembered  now  what 
Sah-luma  had  told  him  respecting  Khosrul's  "new"  theory 
of  a  future  religion — a  theory  that  to  him  had  seemed  so 
old,  so  old!  so  utterly  exhausted  and  worn  threadbare! 
In  what  a  cruel  problem  was  he  hopelessly  involved  ! 
what  a  useless,  perplexed,  confused  being  he  had  be- 
come! he  who  would  once  have  staked  his  life  on  the 
unflinching  strength  and  capabilities  of  human  reason! 
After  a  pause: 

"Forgive  me!"  he  said  in  a  low  tone  and  speaking  with 
some  effort,  "forgive  me  and  have  patience  with  my  lag- 
gard comprehension.  J  am  perplexed  at  heart  and  siow 
of  thought.  Wilt  thou  assure  me  faithfully  that  this 
God-Man  thou  speakest  of  is  not  yet  born  on  earth?" 

The  faintest  shadow  of  a  wondering  smile  flickered 
over  the  old  man's  wrinkled  countenance,  like  the  reflec- 
tion of  a  passing  taper- flame  on  a  faded  picture. 

"My  son,  my  son!"  he  murmured  with  compassionate 
tolerance,  "have  I  not  told  thee  that  jli'c  .thousand  ycurs 
and  more  must  pass  away  ere  the  prediction  be  accc  m 
plished?  I  marvel  that  so  plain  a  truth  should  thus  dis- 
quiet thee!  Now,  by  my  soul,  thou  lookest  pallid  as  the 
dead!  Come,  let  us  hasten  on  more  rapidly;  thy  faint- 
ing spirits  will  revive  in  fresher  air." 

He  hurried  his  pace  as  he  spoke,  and  glided  along  with 
such  a  curious,  stealthy  noiselessness  that  by  and  by 
Theos  began  dubiously  to  wonder  whether,  after  all,  he 
was  real  personage  or  a  phantom.  He  noticed  that  his 
own  figure  seemed  to  possess  much  more  substantiality 
and  distinctness  of  outline  than  that  of  this  mysterious 
Zuriel,  whose  very  garments  resembled  floating  cloud 
rather  than  actual  woven  fabric.  Was  his  companion 
then  a  flitting  specter? 

He  smiled  at  the  absurdity  of  the  idea,  and,  to  change 
the  drift  of  his  own  foolish  fancies,  he  asked  suddenly, 
"Concerning  this  wondrous  city  of  Al-Kyris — is  it  of 
very  ancient  days,  and  long  lineage?" 

"The  annals  of  its  recorded  history  reach  over  a  f  eriod 
of  twelve  thousand  years,1'  replied  Zuriel;    "but  'tis  the 
present  fashion  to  count  from  the  deification  of  Na^aya, 
or  the  snake,  and    according  to    this  we  are  new     ,n  the 
pine  hundred     and    eighty  ninth   year  of  so-called    grace 


THE  CRIMSON  RIVER  859 

and  knowledge:  rather  say  dishonor  and  crime  I  for  a 
crueller,  more  bloodthirsty  creed  than  the  worship  of 
Nayaga  never  debased  a  people!  Who  shall  number  up 
the  innocent  victims  that  have  been  sacrificed  in  the 
great  temple  of  the  sacred  Python!  and  even  on  this 
very  day  which  has  just  dawned,  another  holocaust  is  to 
be  offered  on  the  veiled  shrine,  or  so  it  hath  been  pub- 
licly proclaimed  throughout  the  city,  and  the  crowd  will 
flock  to  see  a  virgin's  blood  spilt  on  the  accursed  altars 
where  Lysia,  in  all  the  potency  of  triumphant  wicked- 
ness, presides.  But  if  the  auguries  of  the  stars  prevail, 
'twill  be  for  the  last  time!"  Here  he  paused  and  looked 
fixedly  at  Theos,  "Thou  dost  turn  straightway  to  Sah- 
luma,  is  it  not  so?" 

Theos  bent  his  head  in  assent. 

"Art  thou  true  friend,  or  mere  flatterer  to  that  spoiled 
child  of  fair  fame  and  fortune?" 

"Friend!"  cried  Theos  with  eager  enthusiasm;  "I  would 
give  my  life  to  save  his!" 

"Ay  verily?  is  it  so?"  and  Zuriel's  melancholy  eyes 
dwelt  upon  him  with  a  strange  and  somber  wistfulness. 
"Then,  as  thou  art  a  man,  persuade  him  out  of  evil  into 
good!  Rouse  him  to  noble  shame  and  nobler  penitence 
for  all  those  faults  which  mar  his  poet-genius  and  de- 
prive it  of  immortal  worth!  Urge  him  to  depart  from 
Al-Kyris  while  there  is  yet  time,  ere  the  bolt  of  destruc- 
tion falls!  And — mark  you  well  this  final  warning! — bid 
him  to-day  avoid  the  temple  and  beware  the  king!" 

As  he  said  this,  he  stopped,  and  extinguished  the  lamp 
he  carried.  There  was  no  longer  any  need  of  it,  for  a 
broad  patch  of  gray  light  fell  through  an  aperture  in  the 
wall,  showing  a  few  rough  steps  that  led  upward,  and, 
pointing  to  these,  he  bade  the  bewildered  Theos  a  kindly 
farewell. 

"Thou  wilt  find  Sah-luma's  palace  easily,"  he  said 
"Not  a  child  in  the  streets  but  knows  the  way  thither. 
Guard  thy  friend,  and  be  thyself  also  on  guard  against 
coming  disaster;  and  if  thou  art  not  yet  resolved  to  die, 
escape  from  the  city  ere  to  night's  sun-setting.  Soothe 
thy  distempered  fancies  with  thoughts  of  God,  and  cease 
not  to  pray  for  thy  soul's  salvation !  Peace  be  with  thee!" 

He  raised  his  hands  with  an  expressive  gesture  of 
benediction,  and,  turning  round  abruptly,  disappeared. 


"AXDATH"' 

Where  had  he  gone?  how  had  he  vanished?  It  was  im- 
possible to  tell;  he  seemed  to  have  melted  away  like  a 
mist  into  utter  nothingness!  Profoundly  perplexed,  Theos 
ascended  the  steps  before  him,  his  mind  anxiously  re- 
revolving  all  the  strange  adventures  of  the  night, while  a 
dim  sense  of  some  unspeakable  coming  calamity  brooded 
darkly  upon  him. 

The  solemn  admonitions  he  had  just  heard  affected 
him  deeply,  for  the  reason  that  they  appeared  to  apply 
so  specially  to  Sah-luma;  and  the  idea  that  any  evil  fate 
was  in  store  for  the  bright,  beautiful  creature,  whom  he 
had,  oddiy  enough,  learned  to  love  more  than  himself, 
moved  him  to  an  almost  womanish  apprehension.  In 
case  of  pressing  necessity,  could  he  exercise  any  authority 
over  the  capricious  movements  of  the  willful  laureate, 
whose  egotism  was  so  absolute,  whose  imperious  wayc 
were  so  charming,  whose  commands  were  never  ques- 
tioned? 

He  doubted  it!  for  Sah-Luma  was  accustomed  to  fol- 
low the  lead  of  his  own  immediate  pleasure,  in  reckless 
scorn  of  consequences,  and  it  was  not  likely  he  would 
listen  to  the  persuasions  or  exhortations,  however  friendly, 
of  any  one  presuming  to  run  counter  to  his  wishes. 

Again  and  again  Theos  asked  himself:  "If  Sah-luma 
of  his  own  accord,  and  despite  all  warning,  deliberately 
rushed  into  deadly  peril,  could  I,  even  loving  him  as  1 
do,  rescue  him?"  And  as  he  pondered  on  this,  a  strange 
answer  shaped  itself  unbidden  in  his  brain — an  answer 
that  seemed  as  though  it  were  spoken  aloud  by  some 
interior  voice :  "No,  no!  ten  thousand  times  no!  You 
could  not  save  him  any  more  than  you  could  save  your- 
self from  the  results  of  your  own  misdoing!  If  you 
voluntarily  choose  evil,  not  all  the  forces  in  the  world 
can  lift  you  into  good;  if  you  voluntarily  choose  danger, 
not  all  the  gods  can  bring  you  into  safety?  Free  will 
is  the  divine  condition  attached  to  human  life,  and  each 
man  by  thought,  word,  and  deed  determines  his  own 
fate,  and  decides  his  own  future!" 

He  sighed  despondingly;  a  curious,  vague  contrition 
stirred  within  him  j  he  felt  as  though  he  were,  in  some 
mysterious  way,  to  blame  for  all  his  poet-friend's  short- 
comings. 

In  a  tew  minutea  he  found  himself  on    the  broad  mar 


THE  CRIMSON   RIVER  26l 

ble  embankment,  close  to  the  very  spot  from  whence  he 
had  first  beheld  the  beautiful  high  priestess  sailing  slowly 
by  in  all  her  golden  pomp  and  splendor;  and  as  he 
thought  of  her  now,  a  shudder,  half  of  aversion,  half  of 
desire,  quivered  through  him,  flushing  his  brows  with 
the  warm  uprising  blood  that  yet  burned  rebelliously  at 
the  remembrance  of  her  witching,  perfect  loveliness! 

Here,  too,  he  had  met  Sah-luma.  Ah,  Heaven!  how 
many  things  had  happened  since  then!  how  much  he 
had  seen  and  heard!  Enough,  at  any  rate,  to  convince 
him  that  the  men  and  women  of  Al-Kyris  were  inore  or 
less  the  same  as  those  of  other  great  cities  he  seemed 
to  have  known  in  far-off,  half-forgotten  days;  that  they 
plotted  against  each  other,  deceived  each  other,  accused 
each  other  falsely,  murdered  each  other,  and  were  fools, 
traitors,  and  egotists  generally,  after  the  customary  fash- 
ion of  human  pigmies;  that  they  set  up  a  sham  to  serve 
as  religion,  gold  being  their  only  god;  that  the  rich 
wantoned  in  splendid  luxury,  and  willfully  neglected  the 
poor;  that  the  king  was  a  showy  profligate,  ruled  by  a 
treacherous  courtesan,  just  like  many  other  famous  kings 
and  princes,  who  because,  of  their  stalwart  martial  bear- 
ing, and  a  certain  surface  good-nature,  manage  to  con- 
ceal their  vices  from  the  too-lenient  eyes  of  the  subjects 
they  mislead;  and  that,  finally,  all  things  were  evidently 
tending  toward  some  great  convulsion  and  upheaval, 
possibly  arising  from  discontent  and  dissension  among 
the  citizens  themselves,  or,  likelier  still,  from  the  sud- 
den invasion  of  a  foreign  foe;  for  any  more  terrific  ter- 
mination of  events  did  not  just  then  suggest  itself  to  his 
imagination. 

Absorbed  in  thought,  he  walked  some  paces  along  the 
embankment,  before  he  perceived  that  a  number  of  peo- 
ple were  already  assembled  there — men,  women,  and 
children,  who,  crowding  eagerly  together  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  parapet,  appeared  to  be  anxiously  watching 
the  waters  below. 

What  unusual  sight  attracted  them?  And  why  were 
they  all  so  silent,  as  though  struck  dumb  by  some  un- 
utterable dismay?  One  or  two,  raising  their  heads, 
turned  their  pale,  alarmed  faces  toward  Theos  as  he  ap- 
proached, their  eyes  seeming  to  mutely  inquire  his  opin- 
ion concerning  the  alarming  phenomenon  which  held 
them  thus  spellbound  and 


262  "ARDATH" 

He  made  his  way  quickly  to  where  the)'  stood,  and, 
looking  where  they  looked,  uttered  a  sharp,  involuntary 
exclamation.  The  river,  the  clear,  rippling  river,  was  red 
as  blood!  Beneath  the  slowly  breaking  light  of  dawn, 
that  streaked  the  heavens  with  delicate  lines  of  silver* 
gray  and  daffodil,  the  whole  visible  length  and  breadth 
of  the  heaving  waters  shone  with  a  darkly  flickering 
crimson  hue,  deeper  than  the  luster  of  the  deepest  ruby, 
flowing  sluggishly  the  while  as  though  clogged  with  some 
thick  and  weedy  slime. 

As  the  sky  brightened  gradually  into  a  pale  ethereal 
blue,  so  the  tide  became  ruddier  and  more  pronounced  in 
color,  and  presently,  as  though  seized  by  a  resistless 
panic,  the  group  of  staring,  terrified  bystanders  broke 
up  suddenly, and  rushed  away  in  various  directions,  cov- 
ering their  faces  as  they  fled,  and  uttering  loud  cries  of 
lamentation  and  despair. 

Theos  alone  remained  behind.  Resting  his  folded 
arms  on  the  sculptured  balustrade,  he  gazed  down,  down 
into  those  crimson  depths  till  their  strange  tint  dazzled 
and  confused  his  sight;  looking  up  for  relief  to  the  east- 
ern horizon,  where  the  sun  was  just  bursting  out  in  full 
splendor  from  a  pavilion  of  violet  cloud,  the  red  reflec- 
tion was  still  before  his  eyes,  so  much  so  that  the  very 
air  seemed  flushed  with  spreading  fire. 

And  then,  like  the  sound  of  a  tocsin  ringing  in  his 
ears,  the  words  of  the  prophet  Khosrul,  as  pronounced 
in  the  presence  of  the  king,  recurred  to  his  memory  with 
new  and  suggestive  force:  ".Blood — blood!  'tis  a  scarlet 
sea  wherein  like  a  broken  and  empty  ship  Al-Kyr is  founders — 
founders  never  to  rise  again!" 

Still  painfully  oppressed  by  an  increasing  sense  of  some 
swift-approaching  disaster,  his  thoughts  once  more  re- 
verted anxiously  to  Sah-luma.  He  must  be  warned,  yes! 
even  if  he  disdained  all  warning!  Yet — warn  him  against 
what?  " Bid  him  avoid  the  temple  and  beware  the  king!" 

So  had  said  Zuriel  the  mystic;  but  to  the  laureled 
favorite  of  the  monarch  and  idol  of  the  people  such  an 
admonition  would  seem  more  than  absurd!  It  was  use- 
less to  talk  to  him  about  the  prophecies  of  Khosrul;  he 
had  heard  them  all,  and  laughed  them  to  scorn. 

"How  can  I,"  then  mused  Theos  disconsolately — "how 
can  I  make  him  believe  that  some  undeclared  evil  threat- 


THE  CRIMSON  RIVER  2Oj 

ens  him,  when  he  is  at  the  very  pinnacle  of  fame  and 
fortune,  with  all  Al-Kyris  at  his  feet?  He  would  never 
listen  to  me,  nor  would  any  persuasion  of  mine  induce 
him  to  leave  the.  city  where  his  name  is  so  glorious  and 
his  renown  so  firmly  established.  Of  Lysia's  treachery 
I  may  perhaps  convince  him;  yet  even  in  this  attempt 
I  may  fail,  and  incur  his  hatred  for  my  pains!  If  I  had 
only  myself  to  consider!"  And  here  his  reflections  sud- 
denly took  a  strange  turn.  If  he  had  only  himself  to 
consider — well,  what  then?  Was  it  not  just  within  the 
bounds  of  probability  that,  under  the  same  circumstances, 
he  might  ba  precisely  as  self-willed  and  as  haughtily 
opinionated  as  the  friend  whose  arrogance  he  deplored 
yet  could  not  alter? 

So  pointed  a  suggestion  was  not  exactly  suited  to  his 
immediate  humor,  and  he  felt  curiously  vexed  with  him- 
self for  indulging  in  such  a  foolish  association  of  ideas! 
The  positions  were  entirely  different,  he  argued,  angrily 
addressing  the  troublesome  inward  monitor  that  every  now 
and  then  tormented  him.  There  was  no  resemblance  what- 
ever between  himself,  the  unknown,  unfamed  wanderer 
in  a  strange  land,  and  the  brilliant  Sah-luma,  chosen 
poet  laureate  of  the  realm! 

No  resemblance — none  at  all !  he  reiterated  over  and 
over  again  in  his  own  mind,  except — except — well !  ex- 
cept in  perhaps  a  few  trifling  touches  of  character  and 
temper  that  were  scaicely  worth  the  noting!  At  this 
juncture,  his  uncomfortable  reverie  was  interrupted  by 
the  sound  of  a  harsh  metallic  voice  close  behind 
him. 

"What  fools  there  are  in  the  world!"  said  the  voice, in 
emphatic  accents  of  supreme  contempt.  "What  braying 
asses!  What  earth-snouting  swine!  Saw  you  not  yon 
crowd  of  whimpering  idiots  flying  helter-skelter,  like 
chaff  before  the  wind,  weeping,  wailing,  and  bemoaning 
their  miserable  little  sins,  scattering  dust  on  their  addled 
pates,  and  howling  on  their  gods  for  mercy,  all, forsooth, 
because  for  once  in  their  unobserving  lives  they  behold 
the  river  red  instead  of  green!  Ay  me!  'tis  a  thing  to 
laugh  at,  this  crass  and  brutish  ignorance  of  the  multi- 
tude; no  teaching  will  ever  cleanse  their  minds  from  the 
cobwebs  of  vulgar  superstition;  and  I,  in  common  with 
every  wise  and  worthy  sage  of  sound  repute  and  knowl- 


264  "ARDATH" 

edge,  must  needs  waste  all  my  scientific  labors  on  a  per- 
petually ungrateful  public!" 

Turning  hastily  round,  Theos  confronted  the  speaker, 
a  tall,  spare  man  with  a  pale,  clean-shaven,  intellectual 
face,  small,  shrewd,  speculative  eye,  and  very  straight, 
neatly  parted  locks — a  man  on  whose  every  lineament  was 
expressed  a  profound  belief  in  himself,  and  an  equally  pro- 
found scorn  for  the  opinions  of  any  one  who  might  pos- 
sibly presume  to  disagree  with  him.  He  smiled  con- 
descendingly as  he  met  Theos'  half-surprised,  half-in- 
quiring look,  and  saluted  him  with  a  gravely  pompous 
air,  which,  however,  was  not  without  a  saving  touch  of 
that  indescribable  easy  grace  which  seemed  to  distin- 
guish the  manners  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  Al-Kyris. 
Theos  returned  the  salutation  with  equal  gravity, where- 
upon the  new-comer,  waving  his  hand  majestically,  con- 
tinued: 

"You,  sir,  I  see,  are  young,  and  probably  you  are  en- 
rolled among  the  advanced  students  of  one  or  other  of  oui 
great  collegiate  institutions ;  therefore  the  peculiar, 
though  not  at  all  unnatural,  tint  of  the  river  this  morn- 
ing is  of  course  no  mystery  to  you,  if,  as  I  presume,  you 
follow  the  scientific  classes  of  instruction  in  the  physi- 
ology of  nature,  the  manifestation  of  simple  and  complex 
motive  force,  and  the  perpetual  evolution  of  atoms?" 

Theos  smiled.  The  grandiloquent  manner  of  this  self- 
important  individual  amused  him. 

"Most  worthy  sir,"  he  replied,  "you  form  too  favor- 
able an  opinion  of  my  scholarly  attainments!  I  am  a 
stranger  in  Al-Kyris,  and  know  naught  of  its  educational 
system, or  the  interior  mechanism  of  its  wondrous  civiliza- 
tion! I  come  from  far-off  lands,  where,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  much  is  taught  and  but  little  retained,  where 
petty  pedagogues  persist  in  dragging  new  generations  of 
men  through  old  and  worn-out  ruts  of  knowledge  that 
future  ages  shall  never  have  need  of;  and  concerning 
even  the  progress  of  science  I  confess  to  a  certain  in- 
credulity, seeing  that,  to  my  mind,  science  somewhat 
resembles  a  straight  line  drawn  clear  across  country,  but 
leading,  alas!  to  an  ocean  wherein  all  landmarks  are  lost 
and  swallowed  up  in  blackness.  Over  and  over  again 
the  human  race  has  trodden  the  same  pathway  of  re- 
search, and  over  and  over  again  lias  it  stood  bewildered 


THE   CRIMSON   RIVER  265 

and  baffled  on  the  shores  of  the  same  vast  sea.  The  most 
marvelous  discoveries  are,  after  all,  mere  child's  play 
compared  to  the  tremendous  secrets  that  must  remain 
forever  unrevealed ;  and  the  poor  arid  trifling  comprehen- 
sion of  things  that  we,  after  a  lifetime  of  study,  suc- 
ceed in  attaining  is  only  just  sufficient  to  add  to  our 
already  burdened  existence  the  undesirable  clogs  of  dis- 
content and  disappointed  endeavor.  We  die  in  almost 
as  much  ignorance  as  we  were  born,  and  when  we  come 
face  to  face  with  the  last  dark  mystery,  what  shall  our 
little  wisdom  profit  us?" 

With  his  arms  folded  in  an  attitude  of  enforced  patience 
and  complacent  superiority,  the  other  listened. 

"Curious,  curious!"  he  murmured  in  a  mild  sotto 
voce.  "A  would-be  pessimist!  ay,  ay,  'tis  very  greatly 
the  fashion  for  young  men  in  these  days  to  assume  the 
manner  of  elderly  and  exhausted  cynics  who  have  tried 
everything  and  approve  of  nothing!  'Tis  a  strange  craze! 
But,  my  good  sir,  let  us  keep  to  the  subject  at  present 
under  discussion.  Like  all  unripe  philosophers,  you 
wander  from  the  point.  I  did  not  ask  you  for  your  opin- 
ion concerning  the  uselessness  or  the  efficiency  of  learn- 
ring;  I  merely  sought  to  discover  whether  you,  like  the 
silly  throng  that  lately  scattered  right  and  left  of  you, 
had  any  foolish  foreboding  respecting  the  transformed 
color  of  this  river — a  color  which,  however  seeming-pe- 
culiar, arises,  as  all  good  scholars  know,  from  causes  that 
are  perfectly  simple  and  easily  explainable  " 

Theos  hesitated:  his  eyes  wandered  involuntarily  to 
the  flowing  tide,  which  now,  with  the  fully  risen  sun, 
seemed  more  than  ever  brilliant  and  lurid  in  its  sanguinary 
hue. 

"Strange  things  have  been  said  of  late  concerning  Al- 
Kyris, "  he  answered  at  last,  slowly  and  after  a  thought- 
ful pause.  "Things  that,  though  wild  and  vague,  are 
not  without  certain  dark  presages  and  ominous  sugges- 
tions. This  crimson  flood  may  be,  as  you  say,  the  nat- 
ural effect  of  purely  natural  causes;  yet,  notwithstanding 
this,  it  seems  to  me  a  singular  phenomenon — nay,  never 
a  wisrd  and  almost  fatal  augury!" 

His  companion  laughed — a  gentle,  careless  laugh  of 
amused  disdain. 

"Phenomenon!   augury!"  he  exclaimed,  shrugging    his 


a66  "ARDATH" 

shoulders  lightly.  "These  words,  my  young  friend,  are 
terms  that  nowadays  belong  exclusively  to  the  vocabu- 
lary of  the  uneducated  masses ;  we — and  by  we  1  mean 
scientists  and  men  of  the  highest  culture — have  long  ego 
rejected  them  as  unmeaning  and  therefore  unnecessary. 
Phenomenon  is  a  particularly  vile  expression,  serving 
merely  to  designate  anything  wonderful  and  uncommon; 
whereas,  to  the  scienific  eye,  there  is  nothing  left  in  the 
world  that  ought  to  excite  so  vulgar  and  barbarous  an 
emotion  as  wonder;  nothing  so  apparently  rare  that  can 
not  be  reducsd  at  once  from  the  ignorant  exaggerations 
of  enthusiasm  to  the  sensible  level  of  the  commonplace! 
The  so-called  'marvels'  of  nature  have,  thanks  to  the  ad- 
vancement of  practical  education,  entirely  ceased  to  affect 
by  either  surprise  or  admiration  the  carefully  matured, 
mathematically  adjusted,  and  technically  balanced  brain 
of  the  finished  student  or  professor  of  organic  evolution; 
and  as  for  the  idea  of  'auguries'  or  portents,  nothing 
could  well  be  more  entirely  at  variance  with  our  present 
system  of  progressive  learning,  whereby  human  reason 
is  trained  and  taught  to  pulverize  into  indistinguishable 
atoms  all  supernatural  propositions,  and  to  gradually 
eradicate  from  the  mind  the  absurd  notion  of  a  Deity  or 
deities,  whom  it  is  necessary  to  propitiate  in  order  to 
live  well.  Much  time  is,  of  course,  required  to  elevate 
the  multitude  above  all  desire  for  a  religion;  but  the 
seed  has  been  sown,  and  the  harvest  will  be  reaped,  and 
a  glorious  era  is  fast  approaching,  when  free-thinking, 
free  speaking  people  of  all  nations  shall  govern  them- 
selves and  rejoice  in  the  grand  and  godless  light  of  uni- 
versal liberty!" 

Somewhat  heated  by  the  fervor  of  his  declamatory 
utterance,  he  passed  his  hand  among  his  straight  locks  ; 
whether  to  cool  his  forehead,  or  to  show  off  the  numer- 
ous jeweled  rings  on  his  fingers,  it  was  difficult  to  say, 
and  continued  more  calmly: 

"No,  young  sir!  the  color  of  this  river — a  color  which 
I  willingly  admit  resembles  the  tint  of  flowing  human 
blood — has  naught  to  do  with  foolish  omens  and  fore- 
casts of  evil.  'Tis  simply  caused  by  the  influx  of  some 
foreign  alluvial  matter,  probably  washed  down  by  storm 
from  the  sides  of  the  distant  mountains  whence  these 
waters  have  their  rising.  See  you  not  how  the  tide  is 


THE  CRIMSON  RIVER  267 

thick  and  heavy  with  an  unfloatable  cargo  of  red  sand? 
Some  sudden  disturbance  of  the  soil,  or  a  volcanic  move- 
ment underneath  the  ocean, or  even  a  distant  earthquake — 
any  of  these  may  be  the  reason." 

"May  be?  Why  not  say  must  be,"  observed  Theos 
half  ironically,  "since  learning  makes  you  sure?" 

His  companion  pressed  the  tips  of  his  fingers  delicately 
together,  as  though  blandly  deprecating  this  observa- 
tion. 

"Nay,  nay!  none  of  us,  however  wise,  can  say  'must 
be,'"  he  argued  suavely.  "It  is  not,  strictly  speaking, 
possible  in  this  world  to  pronounce  an  incontestable  cer- 
tainty." 

"Not  even  that  two  and  two  are  four?"  suggested 
Theos,  smiling. 

"Not  even  that!"  replied  the  other  with  perfect  gravity, 
"Inasmuch  as  in  the  kingdom  of  Hypharus,  whose  bor- 
ders touch  ours,  the  inhabitants,  also  highly  civilized,  do 
count  their  quantities  by  a  totally  different  method  ;  and 
to  them  two  and  two  are  not  four,  the  numbers  two  and 
four  not  being  included  in  their  system  of  figures.  Thus, 
a  professor  from  the  colleges  of  Hypharus  could  obsti- 
nately deny  what  to  us  seems  the  plainest  fact  known  to 
common  sense;  yet  were  I  to  argue  against  him  I  should 
never  persuade  him  out  of  his  theory,  nor  could  he  move 
me  one  jot  from  mine.  And  viewed  from  our  different 
standpoints,  therefore,  the  first  simple  multiplication  of 
numbers  could  never  be  proved  correct  beyond  all  ques- 
tion!" 

Theos  glanced  at  him  in  wonder.  The  man  must  be 
mad,  he  thought,  since  surely  any  one  in  his  senses 
could  see  that  two  objects  placed  with  other  two  must 
necessarily  make  four! 

"I  confess  you  surprise  me  greatly,  sir!"  he  said,  and, 
in  spite  of  himself,  a  little  quiver  of  laughter  shook  his 
voice.  "What  I  asked  was  by  way  of  jest,  and  I  never 
thought  to  hear  so  simple  a  subject  treated  with  so  much 
profound  and  almost  doubting  seriousness!  See!"  and 
he  picked  up  four  small  stones  from  the  roadway.  "Count 
these  one  by  one;  how  many  have  you?  Surely  even  a 
professor  from  Hypharus  could  find  no  more  and  no  less 
than  four? ' 

Very  deliberately,  and  with  unruffled  equanimity,   the 


268  "ARDATH1* 

other  took  the  pebbles  in  his  hand,  turned  Ihem  ovei 
and  over,  and  finally  placed  them  in  a  row  on  the  edge 
of  the  blaustrade  near  which  he  stood. 

"There  seem  to  be  four,"  he  then  observed  placidly, 
"but  I  would  not  swear  to  it,  nor  to  anything  else  of 
which  the  actuality  is  only  supported  by  the  testimony 
of  my  own  eyas  and  sense  of  touch." 

"Good  heavens,  man!"  cried  Theos,  in  amazement, 
"but  a  moment  since,  you  were  praising  the  excellence 
of  reason,  and  the  progressive  system  of  learning  that 
was  to  educate  human  beings  into  a  contempt  for  the 
supernatural  and  spiritual,  and  yet  almost  in  the  same 
breath  you  tell  ma  you  cannot  rely  on  the  evidence  of 
your  own  senses  !  Was  there  ever  anything  more  utterly 
incoherent  and  irrational!" 

And  he  flung  the  pebbles  into  the  redly  flowing 
river  with  a  gesture  of  irritation  and  impatience.  The 
scientist,  if  scientist  he  could  be  called,  gazed  at  him 
abstractedly,  and  stroked  his  well-shaven  chin  with  a 
somewhat  dejected  air.  Presently  heaving  a  deep  sigh, 
he  said: 

"Alas,  I  have  again  betrayed  myself !  'tis  my  fatal  des- 
tiny! Always  by  some  unlooked-for  mischance  I  am 
compelled  to  avow  what  most  I  desire  to  conceal!  Can 
you  not  understand,  sir,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  persua- 
sively on  Theos'  arm,  "that  a  theory  may  be  one  thing 
and  one's  own  private  opinion  another?  My  theory  is 
my  professsion.  I  live  by  it!  Suppose  I  resigned  it — 
well,  then  I  should  also  have  to  resign  my  present  posi- 
tion in  the  Royal  Institution  College,  my  house,  my 
servants,  and  my  income.  I  advance  the  interests  of 
pure  human  reason,  because  the  age  has  a  tendency  to 
place  reason  as  the  first  and  highest  attribute  of  man, 
and  it  would  not  pay  me  to  pronounce  my  personal  pref- 
erence for  the  natural  and  vastly  superior  gift  of  intel- 
lectual instinct.  1  advise  my  scholars  to  become  atheists, 
because  I  perceive  they  have  a  positive  passion  for  athe- 
ism, and  it  is  not  my  business,  nor  would  it  be  to  my 
advantage,  to  interfere  with  the  declared  predilections 
of  my  wealthiest  patrons.  Concerning  my  own  ideas 
on  these  matters,  they  are  absolutely  nil.  I  have  no  fixed 
principles,  because,"  and  his  brows  contracted  in  a  puz- 
zled line,  "it  is  entirely  out  of  my  ability  to  fix  any 


THE  CRIMSON  RIVER  269 

thing!  The  whole  world  of  manners  and  morals  is  in  a 
state  of  perpetual  ferment  and  consequent  change;  equally 
restless  and  mutable  is  the  world  of  nature,  for  at  any 
moment  mountains  may  become  plains,  and  plains  mount- 
tains;  the  dry  land  may  be  converted  into  oceans,  and 
oceans  into  dry  land,  and  so  on  forever.  In  this  incessant 
shifting  of  the  various  particles  that  make  up  the  uni- 
verse, how  can  you  expect  a  man  to  hold  fast  to  so  unsta- 
ble a  thing  as  an  idea?  And,  respecting  the  testimony 
offered  by  sight  and  sense,  can  you  rely  upon  such  slip- 
pery evidence?" 

Theos  moved  uneasily;  a  slight  shiver  ran  through  hik. 
veins,  and  a  momentary  dizziness  seized  him,  as  of  ont» 
who,  gazing  down  from  some  lofty  mountain  peak,  see*» 
naught  below  but  the  white,  deceptive  blankness  of  n 
mist  that  veils  the  deeper  deathful  chasms  from  his  eyes. 
Coald  he  rely  on  sight  and  sense;  dared  he  take  oath 
that  these  frail  guides  of  his  intelligence  could  never  be 
deceived?  Doubtfully  he  mused  on  this,  while  his  c^m- 
panion  continued: 

"For  example,  I  look  an  arm's  length  into  space;  my 
eyes  assure  me  that  I  might  behold  nothing  save  empty 
air;  my  touch  corroborates  the  assertion  of  my  eyes, 
and  yet  science  proves  to  me  that  every  inch  01  that 
arm's  length  of  supposed  blank  space  is  rilled  with  thou- 
sands of  minute  living  organisms  that  no  human  vision 
shall  ever  be  able  to  note  or  examine!  Wonder  not, 
therefore,  that  I  decline  to  express  absolute  confidence 
in  any  fact, however  seemingly  obvious,  such  as  tnat  two 
and  two  are  four,  and  that  I  prefer  to  say  the  blood-red 
color  of  this  river  may  be  caused  by  an  earth-tremor  or 
a  land-slip,  rather  than  positively  assert  that  it  must 
be  so;  though  I  confess  that,  as  far  as  my  knowledge 
guides  me,  1  incline  to  the  belief  that  'must  be'  is,  in 
this  instance,  the  correct  term." 

He  sighed  again,  arid  rubbed  his  nose  perplexedly. 
Theos  glanced  at  him  curiously,  uncertain  whether  to 
laugh  at  or  pity  him. 

"Then  the  upshot  of  all  your  learning,  sir,"  he  said, 
"is  that  one  can  never  be  quite  certain  of  anything?" 

"Exactly  so!"  replied  the  pensive  sage  with  a  grave 
shake  of  his  head.  "Judged  by  the  very  finest  lines  of 
metaphysical  argument,  you  cannot  really  be  sure  whether 


"ARDATH* 

you  behold  in  me  a  person  or  a  phantasm!  You  think  you 
see  me — I  think  I  see  you,  but  after  all  it  is  only  an 
impression  mutually  shared — an  impression  which,  like 
many  another,  less  distinct,  may  be  entirely  erroneous! 
Ah,  my  dear  young  sir!  education  is  advancing  at  a  very 
rapid  rate,  and  the  art  of  close  analysis  is  reaching  such 
a  pitch  of  perfection  that  I  believe  we  shall  soon  be  able 
logically  to  prove,  not  only  that  we  do  not  actually  ex- 
ist, but  moreover  that  we  never  have  existed!  And  here- 
in, as  I  consider,  will  be  the  final  triumph  of  philoso- 
phy!" 

"A  poor  triumph!"  murmured  Theos  wearily.  "What, 
in  such  a  case,  would  become  of  all  the  nobler  sentiments 
and  passions  of  man — love,  hope,  gratitude,  duty,  am- 
bition?" 

"They  would  be  precisely  the  same  as  before,"  re- 
joined the  other  complacently;  "only  we  should  have 
learned  to  accept  them  merely  as  the  means  whereby  to 
sustain  the  impression  that  we  live — an  impression  which 
would  always  be  agreeable,  however  delusive!" 

Theos  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "You  possess  a  pecu 
liarly  constituted  mind,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  I  congratu- 
late you  on  the  skill  you  display  in  following  out  a  some- 
what puzzling  investigation  to  almost  its  last  hair- 
breadth of  a  conclusion;  but, pardon  me, I  should  scarcely 
think  the  discussion  of  such  debatable  theories  conducive 
to  happiness." 

"Happiness!"  and  the  scientist  smiled  scornfully.  "'Tis 
a  fool's  term,  and  designates  a  state  of  being  that  can 
only  pertain  to  foolishness!  Show  me  a  perfectly  happy 
man,  and  I  will  show  you  an  ignorant  witling,  light- 
headed, hard-hearted,  and  of  a  most  powerfully  good 
digestion!  Many  such  there  be  now  wantoning  among 
us,  and  the  head  and  chief  of  them  all  is  perhaps  the 
most  popular  numskull  in  Al-Kyris — the  poet — bah! — let 
us  say  the  braying  jackass  in  office,  the  laureled  Sah- 
luma!" 

Theos  gave  an  indignant  start,  the  hot  color  flushed 
his  brows;  then  he  restrained  himself  by  an  effort. 

"Control  the  fashion  of  your  speech,  I  pray  you,  sir!" 
he  said,  with  excessive  haughtiness.  "The  noble  lau- 
reate is  my  friend  and  host.  I  suffer  no  man  to  use  his 
name  unworthily  in  my  presence!" 


THE  CRIMSON  RIVER  271 

The  sage  drew  back,  and  spread  out  his  hands  in  a 
pacifying  manner. 

"Oh,  I  crave  your  pardon,  good  stranger!"  he  mur- 
mured, with  a  kind  of  apologetic  satire  in  his  acrid 
voice.  "I  crave  it  most  abjectly.  Yet,  to  somewhat 
excuse  the  hastiness  of  my  words,  I  would  explain  that 
a  contempt  for  poets  is  now  universal  among  persons  of 
profound  enlightenment  and  practical  knowledge — " 

"I  am  aware  of  it!"  interrupted  Theos  swiftly  and  with 
passion;  "I  am  aware  that  so-called  'wise'  men,  rooted 
in  narrow  prejudice,  with  a  smattering  of  even  narrower 
logic,  presume,  out  of  their  immeasurable  littleness,  to 
decry  and  make  mock  cf  the  truly  great,  who,  thanks  to 
God's  unpurchasable  gift  of  inspiration,  can  do  without 
the  study  of  books  or  the  teaching  of  pedants;  who  flare 
through  the  world  flame-winged  and  full  of  song,  like 
angels  passing  heavenward,  and  whose  voices,  rich  with 
music,  not  only  sanctify  the  by-gone  ages,  but  penetrate 
with  echoing,  undying  sweetness  the  ages  still  to  come! 
Contempt  for  poets!  Ay,  'tis  common!  the  petty,  boast- 
ful pedagogues  of  surface  learning  ever  look  askance  on 
these  kings  in  exile,  these  emperors  masked,  these  gods 
disguised!  But  humiliated,  condemned,  or  rejected,  they 
are  still  the  supreme  rulers  of  the  human  heart,  and  a 
love-ode,  chanted  in  the  long-ago  by  one  such  fire-lip- 
ped minstrel,  outlasts  the  history  of  many  kingdoms!" 

He  spoke  with  rapid,  almost  unconscious  fervor,  and, 
as  he  ended, raised  one  hand  with  an  enthusiastic  gesture 
toward  the  now  brilliant  sapphire  sky  and  glowing  sun. 
The  scientist  looked  at  him  furtively  and  smiled — a 
bland,  expostulatory  smile. 

"Oh,  you  are  young!  you  must  be  very  young!"  he  said 
forbearingly.  "In  a  little  time  you  will  grow  out  of  all 
this  ill-judged  fanaticism  for,  an  art,  the  pursuance  of 
which  is  really  only  wasted  labor!  Think  of  the  ab- 
surdity of  it!  what  can  be  more  foolish  than  the  writing 
of  verse  to  express  or  to  encourage  emotion  in  the  hu- 
man subject,  when  the  great  aim  of  education  at  the 
present  day  is  to  carefully  eradicate  emotion  by  degrees, 
till  we  succeed  in  completely  suppressing  it?  An  out- 
burst of  feeling  is  always  vulgar — the  highest  culture  con- 
sists in  being  impassively  equable  of  temperament,  and 
absolutely  indifferent  to  the  attacks  of  either  ioy  or  sor- 


272  "AkOATH" 

row.  I  should  be  inclined  to  ask  you  to  consider  this 
matter  more  seriously,  and  from  the  strictly  common 
sense  point  of  view,  did  I  not  know  that  for  you  to  un- 
dertake a  course  of  useful  meditation  while  you  remain 
in  Sah-luma's  companionship  would  be.  impossible — quite 
impossible!  Nevertheless  our  discourse  has  been  so  far 
interesting,  that  I  shall  be  happy  to  meet  you  again  and 
give  you  an  opportunity  for  further  converse  should  you 
desire  it.  Ask  for  the  head  professor  of  scientific  posi 
tivism,  any  day  in  the  Stranger's  Court  of  the  Royal  In- 
stitutional College,  and  I  will  at  once  receive  you!  My 
name  is  Mira-Khabur — Professor  Mira-Khabur — at  your 
service!" 

And  laying  one  hand  on  his  breast  he  bowed  profoundly. 

"A  professor  of  positivism  who  is  himself  never  pos- 
itive!" observed  Theos  with  a  slight  smile. 

"Ah,  pardon!"  returned  the  other  gravely.  "On  the 
contrary,  I  am  always  positive — of  the  ^wpositiveness 
of  positivism!" 

And  with  this  final  vindication  of  his  theories  he  made 
another  stately  obeisance  and  went  his  way.  Theos  looked 
after  his  tall,  retreating  figure,  half  in  sadness,  half  in 
scorn.  This  proudly  incompetent,  learned-ignorant  Mira- 
Khabur  was  no  uncommon  character.  Surely  there  were 
many  like  him ! 

Somewhere  in  the  world,  somewhere  in  far  lands  of 
which  the  memory  was  now  as  indistinct  as  the  outline 
of  receding  shores  blurred  by  a  faling  mist, Theos  seemed 
painfully  to  call  to  mind  certain  cold  blooded  casuists 
he  had  known,  who  had  attempted  to  explain  away  the 
mysteries  of  life  and  death  by  rule  and  line  calculations, 
and  who  for  no  other  reason  than  their  mathematically 
argued  denial  of  God's  existence  had  gained  for  them- 
selves a  temporary  spurious  celebrity.  Yes!  surely  he  had 
met  such  men — but  where?  Realizing,  with  a  sort  of 
shock,  that  he  was  quite  as  much  in  the  dark  as  ever 
with  regard  to  any  real  cognizance  of  his  former  place  of 
abode  and  the  manner  of  life  he  must  have  led  before 
he  entered  this  bewildering  city  of  Al-Kyris,  he  roused 
himself  abruptly,  and  resolutely  banishing  the  heavy 
thoughts  that  threatened  to  oppress  his  soul,  he  began 
without  further  delay  to  direct  his  steps  toward  San 
luma's  palace, 


THE  CRIMSdN   RIVER  273 

He  glanced  once  more  at  the  river  before  leaving 
the  embankment;  it  was  still  blood-red,  and  every 
now  and  then  between  the  sluggish  ripples,  multi- 
tudes of  dead  fish  could  be  seen  drifting  along  in  shoals, 
and  tangled  in  nets  of  slimy  weed,  that  at  a  little  dis- 
tance looked  like  the  floating  tresses  of  drowned  women. 

It  was  an  uncanny  sight,  and  though  it  might  certainly 
be,  as  the  wise  Mira  Khabur  had  stated,  the  purely 
natural  effect  of  purely  natural  causes,  still  those  natural 
causes  were  not  as  yet  explained  satisfactorily.  An  earth- 
quake or  a  landslip  would  perhaps  account  sufficiently 
for  everything,  but  then  an  inquiring  mind  would  desire 
to  know  where  the  earthquake  or  landslip  occurred,  and 
also  why  these  supposed  far-off  disturbances  should  thus 
curiously  affect  the  rivers  surrounding  Al-Kyris.  An- 
swers to  such  questions  as  these  were  not  forthcoming 
either  from  Professor  Mira-Khabur  or  any  other  saga- 
cious pundit;  and  Theos  was,  therefore,  still  most  illog- 
ically  and  unscientifically  puzzled,  as  well  as  supersti- 
tiously  uneasy. 

Turning  up  a  side  street,  he  quickened  his  pace  in 
order  to  overtake  a  young  vendor  of  wines  whom  he  pre- 
ceived  sauntering  along  in  front  of  him,  balancing  a  flat 
tray,  loaded  with  thin  crystal  flasks,  on  his  head.  How 
gloriously  the  sunshine  quivered  through  those  delicately 
tinted  glass  bottles, lighting  up  the  glittering  liquid  con- 
tained , within  them!  Why,  they  looked  more  like  soap- 
bubbles  than  anything  else!  and  the  boy  who  carried 
them  moved  with  such  a  lazy,  noiseless  grace  that  he 
might  have  been  taken  for  a  dream-sylph  rather  than  a 
human  being! 

"Hold,  my  lad!"  called  Theos,  running  after  him. 
"Tell  me,  is  this  the  way  to  the  palace  of  the  king's 
laureate?" 

The  youth  looked  up — what  a  beautiful  creature  he 
was,  with  his  brilliant  dark  eyes  and  dusky-warm  com- 
plexion! 

"Why  ask  for  the  king's  laureate?"  he  demanded 
v/ith  a  pretty  scorn.  "The  people's  Sah-luma  lives  yon- 
der!" and  he  pointed  to  a  mass  of  towering  palms 
from  whose  close  and  graceful  frondage  a  white  dome 
rose  glistening  in  the  clear  air.  "Our  poet's  fame  is 
not  the  outgrowth  of  a  mere  king's  favor;  'tis  the  glad 


274  "ARDATH* 

and  willing  tribute  of  the  nation's  love  and  praise!  A 
truce  to  monarchs!  they  will  soon  be  at  a  discount  in  Al- 
Kyris!" 

And  with  a  flashing  glance  of  defiance,  and  a  saucy 
smile,  he  passed  on,  easily  sauntering  as  before. 

"A  budding  republican!"  thought  Theos  amusedly,  as 
he  pursued  his  course  in  the  direction  indicated.  "That 
is  how  the  'liberty,  equality,  fraternity'  system  always 
begins — first  among  the  street  boys  who  think  they  ought 
to  be  gentlemen,  then  among  shopkeepers  who  persuade 
themselves  that  they  deserve  to  be  peers;  then  comes  a 
time  of  topsy-turvydom  and  fierce  contention,  and  by-and- 
by  everything  gets  shaken  together  again  in  the  form 
of  a  republic,  wherein  the  street  boys  and  shopkeepers 
are  not  a  whit  better  off  than  they  were  under  a  mon- 
archy— they  become  neither  peers  nor  gentlemen, but  stay 
exactly  in  their  original  places,  with  the  disadvantage  oi 
finding  their  trade  decidedly  damaged  by  the  change 
that  has  occurred  in  the  national  economy!  Strange 
that  the  inhabitants  of  this  world  should  make  such  a 
fuss  about  resisting  tyranny  and  oppression,  when  each 
particular  individual  man,  by  custom  and  usage,  tyran- 
nizes over  and  oppresses  his  fellow  man  to  an  extent  that 
would  be  simply  impossible  to  the  fiercest  kings!" 

Thus  meditating,  a  few  steps  more  brought  him  to  the 
entrance  of  Sah-luma's  princely  abode.  The  gates  stood 
wide  open,  and  a  pleasant  murmur  of  laughter  and  soft 
singing  floated  toward  him  across  the  splendid  court 
where  the  great  fountains  were  tossing  up  to  the  bright 
sky  their  straight,  glistening  columns  of  snowy  spray. 
He  listened,  and  his  heart  leaped  with  an  intense  relief 
and  joy — Sah-luma,  the  beloved  Sah-luma,  was  evidently 
at  home  and  as  yet  unharmed;  these  mirthful  sounds 
betokened  that  all  was  well.  The  vague  trouble  and 
depression  that  had  weighed  upon  his  soul  for  hours 
now  vanished  completely,  and  hastening  along,  he  sprang 
lightly  up  the  marble  stairs,  and  into  the  rainbow  col- 
ored, spacious  hall,  where  the  first  person  he  saw  was 
Zabastes  the  critic. 

"Ah,  good  Zabastes!"  he  cried  gayly,  "where  is  thy 
master  Sah-luma?  Has  he  returned  in  safety?" 

"In  safety?"  croaked  Zabastes  with  an  accent  of  ironic 
surprise.  ''To  be  sure!  Is  be  a  baby  in  swaddling 


THE  CRIMSON   RIVER 

clothes  that  he  cannot  be  trusted  out  alone  to  take  care 
of  himself?  In  safety?  ay!  I  warrant  you  he  is  safe 
enough,  and  silly  enough,  and  lazy  enough  to  please  any 
one  of  his  idiot  flatterers.  Moreover,  my  'master'" — and 
he  emphasized  this  word  with  indescribable  bitterness — 
"hath  slept  as  soundly  as  a  swine,  and  hath  duly 
bathed  with  the  punctiliousness  of  a  conceited  swan, 
and  being  suitably  combed,  perfumed,  attired,  and 
throned  as  becomes  his  dainty  puppetship.  is  now  con- 
descending to  partake  of  vulgar  food  in  the  seclusion  of 
his  own  apartment.  Go  thither  and  you  shall  find  his 
verse-stringing  mightiness  nobly  enshrined  as  a  god 
among  a  worshiping  crowd  of  witless  maidens;  he 
hath  inquired  for  you  many  times,  which  is  somewhat 
of  a  wonder,  seeing  that  as  a  rule  he  concerns  his  mind 
with  naught  save  himself!  Furthermore,  he  is  graciously 
pleased  to  be  in  a  manner  solicitous  on  behalf  of  the 
maiden  Niphrata,  who  hath  suddenly  disappeared  from 
the  household,  leaving  no  message  to  explain  the  causes 
of  her  evanishment.  Hast  seen  her?  No?"  and  the 
old  man  thumped  his  stick  petulantly  on  the  floor  as  Theos 
shook  his  head  in  the  negative.  "Tis  the  only  feminine 
creature  I  ever  had  patience  to  speak  with,  a  modest 
wench  and  a  gentle  one,  and  were  it  not  for  her  idola- 
trous adoration  of  Sah-luma,  she  would  be  fairly  sensible 
withal.  No  matter!  she  has  gene;  everything  goes,  even 
good  women,  and  nothing  ]asts  save  felly,  of  which  there 
shall  surely  never  be  an  end!" 

Here,  apparently  conscious  that  he  had  shown  more 
feeling  in  speaking  of  Niphrata  than  was  usual  with  him, 
he  looked  up  impatiently  and  waved  his  staff  toward 
Sah-luma' s  study:  "In,  in,  boy!  In  to  the  chief  of  poets 
and  prince  of  egotists!  He  waits  your  service;  he  is  all 
agape  and  thirsty  for  more  flattery  and  delicate  cajole- 
ment; stuff  him  with  praise,  good  youth!  and  who  knows 
but  a  portion  of  his  mantle  may  descend  on  you  hereafter 
and  make  of  you  as  conceited  and  pretty  a  bantling  bard 
for  the  glory  of  proud  posterity!" 

And  chuckling  audibly,  he  hobbled  down  a  side  pas- 
sage, while  Theos,  half  angry,  half  amused,  crossed 
the  hall  quickly,and  arrived  at  the  door  of  the  laureate's 
private  sanctum,  where,  gently  drawing  aside  the  silken 
draperies,  he  looked  in  for  a  moment  without  being 


276  "ARDATH" 

himself  perceived.  What  a  picture  he  beheld!  How 
perfect  in  every  shade  of  color,  in  every  line  of  detail! 
Sah-luina,  reclining  in  a  quaintly  carved  ebony  chair, 
was  toying  with  the  fruit  and  wine  set  out  before  him 
on  an  ivory  and  gold  stand;  his  dress,  simpler  than  it 
had  been  on  the  previous  evening,  was  of  fine  white  linen 
gathered  loosely  about  his  classic  figure;  he  wore  neither 
myrtle  wreath  nor  jewels;  the  expression  of  his  face  was 
serious,  even  noble,  and  his  attitude  was  one  of  languid 
grace  and  unstudied  ease  that  became  him  infinitely  well. 
The  maidens  of  his  household  waited  near  him  ;  some 
of  them  held  flowers;  one,  kneeling  at  a  small  lyre, seemed 
just  about  to  strike  a  few  chords,  when  Sah-luma  silenced 
her  by  a  light  gesture: 

"Peace,  Zoralin!"  he  said  softly,  "I  cannot  listen;  thou 
hast  not  my  Niphrata's  tenderness!" 

Zoralin,  a  beautiful  dark  girl,  with  hair  as  black  as 
night  and  eyes  that  looked  as  though  they  held  sup- 
presssed  yet  ever  burning  fire,  let  her  hands  instantly 
drop  from  the  instrument,  and  sighing,  shrank  back  a 
little  in  abashed  silence.  At  that  moment  Theos  ad- 
vanced, and  the  laureate  sprang  up  delightedly: 

"Ah,  at  last,  my  friend!"  he  cried,  enthusiastically 
clasping  him  by  both  hands,  "where,  in  the  name  of  the 
gods,  hast  thou  been  roaming?  How  did  we  part?  By 
my  soul,  I  forget!  but  no  matter!  thou  art  here  once 
more,  and  as  I  live,  we  will  not  separate  again  so  easily! 
My  noble  Theos!"  and  he  threw  one  arm  round  his  neck, 
"I  have  missed  thee  more  than  I  can  tell,  these  past  few 
hours.  Thou  dost  seem  so  sympathetically  conjoined 
with  me,  that  verily  I  think  I  am  but  half  myself  in  thine 
absence!  Come,  sit  thee  down  and  break  thy  fast!  I 
almost  feared  thou  hadst  met  with  some  mischance  on 
thy  way  hither,  and  that  I  should  have  had  to  sally 
forth  and  rescue  thee  again  even  as  I  did  yesternoon! 
Say,  hast  thou  occupied  thyself  with  so  much  friendly 
consideration  on  my  behalf  as  I  have  on  thine?" 

He  laughed  gayly  as  he  spoke,  and  Theos,  looking 
into  his  bright,  beautiful  face,  was,  for  a  moment,  too 
deeply  moved  by  his  own  strange  inward  emotions  to 
utter  a  word  in  reply.  Why  did  he  love  Sah-luma  so 
ardently?  he  wondered.  Why  was  it  that  every  smile 
on  that  proud  mouth, every  glance  of  those  flashing  eyes. 


WASTED  PASSION  277 

possessed  such  singular,  overwhelming  fascination  for 
him?  He  could  not  tell,  but  he  readily  yielded  to  the 
magic  influence  of  his  friend's  extraordinary  attractive- 
ness, and  sitting  down  beside  him  in  the  azure  light 
and  soft  fragrance  of  his  regal  apartment,  he  experinced 
a  sudden  sense  of  rest,  satisfaction,  and  completeness, 
such  as  may  be  felt  by  a  man  at  one  with  himself,  and 
with  all  the  world ! 


CHAPTER    XII. 

WASTED   PASSION. 

THE  assembled  maidens  had  retired  modestly  into  the 
background,  while  the  laureate  had  thus  joyously  greeted 
his  returned  guest;  but  now,  at  a  signal  from  their  lord, 
they  again  advanced,  and  taking  up  the  glittering  dishes 
of  fruit  and  the  flasks  of  wine,  proffered  them  in  turn  to 
Theos  with  much  deferential  grace  and  courtesy.  He 
was  by  no  means  slow  in  responding  to  the  humble  atten- 
tions of  these  fair  ones;  there  was  a  sort  of  deliciously 
dreamy  enchantment  in  being  waited  upon  by  such  ex- 
quisitely lovely  creatures!  The  passing  touch  of  their 
little  white  hands  that  supported  the  heavy  golden  salvers 
seemed  to  add  new  savor  to  the  luscious  fare;  the  tim- 
orous fire  of  their  downcast  eyes,  softly  sparkling  through 
the  veil  of  their  long  lashes,  gave  extra  warmth  to  the 
ambrosial  wine,  and  he  could  not  refrain  from  occasion- 
ally whispering  a  .tender  flattery  or  delicate  compliment 
in  the  ear  of  one  or  other  of  his  sylph- like  servitors, 
though  they  all  appeared  curiously  unmoved  by  his 
choicely  worded  adulation.  Now  and  then  a  pale,  flicker- 
ing blush  or  sudden  smile  brightened  their  faces,  but  for 
the  most  part  they  maintained  a  demure  and  serious 
demeanor,  as  though  possessed  by  the  very  spirit  of  in- 
vincible reserve.  With  Sah-luma  it  was  otherwise;  they 
hovered  about  him  like  butterflies  round  a  rose,  a  thou- 
sand wistful,  passionate  glances  darted  upon  him  when 
he,  unconscious  or  indifferent, apparently  saw  nothing; 
many  a  deep,  involuntary  sigh  was  stifled  quickly  ere  it 
could  escape  the  rosy  lips  whose  duty  it  was  to  wreathe 


278  "ARDATH" 

themselves  with  smiles,  and  Theos  noticing  these  things 
thought : 

"Heavens!  how  this  man  is  loved!  and  yet,  he,  out 
of  all  men,  is  perhaps  the  most  ignorant  of  love's  true 
meaning !" 

Scarcely  had  this  reflection  entered  his  mind  than  he 
became  bitterly  angry  with  himself  for  having  indulged 
in  it.  How  recreant,  how  base  an  idea!  how  incompat- 
ible with  the  adoring  homage  he  felt  for  his  friend! 
What !  Sah-luma,  a  poet,  whose  songs  of  love  were  so 
perfect,  so  wildly  sweet  and  soul  entrancing — he,  to  be 
ignorant  of  love's  true  meaning?  Oh,  impossible!  and  a 
burning  flush  of  shame  rose  to  Theos'  brow — shame  that 
he  could  have  entertained  such  a  blasphemy  against  his 
idol  for  a  moment!  Then  that  curious,  vague,  soft  con- 
trition he  had  before  experienced  stole  over  him  once 
again,  a  sudden  moisture  filled  his  eyes  and,  turning  ab- 
ruptly toward  his  host,  he  held  out  his  own  just  filled 
goblet: 

"Drink  we  the  loving-cup  together,  Sah-luma!"  he 
said,  and  his  voice  trembled  a  little  with  its  own  deep 
tenderness.  "Pledge  me  thy  faith  as  I  do  pledge  thee 
mine!  And,  for  to-day  at  least,  let  me  enjoy  thy  boon 
companionship;  who  knows  how  soon  we  may  be  forced 
to  part — forever!"  And  he  breathed  the  last  word  softly 
with  a  faint  sigh. 

Sah-luma  looked  at  him  with  an  expressive  glance  of 
bright  surprise. 

"Part?"  he  exclaimed  joyously;  "nay,  not  we,  my 
friend!  Not  till  we  find  each  other  tiresome,  not  till  we 
prove  that  our  spirits,  like  over  mettlesome  steeds,  do 
chafe  and  fret  one  another  too  rudely  in  the  harness  of 
custom  ;  wherefore  then,  and  then  only,  'twill  be  time 
to  break  loose  at  a  gallop,  and  seek  each  one  a  wider 
pasture  land!  Meanwhile,  here's  to  thee!:f  and  bending 
his  handsome  head,  he  readily  drank  a  deep  draught  of 
the  proffered  wine.  "May  all  the  gods  hold  fast  our  bond 
of  friendship!" 

And  with  a  graceful  salute  he  returned  the  jeweled  cup 
half  empty.  Theos  at  once  drained  off  what  yet  remained 
within  it,  and  then,  leaning  more  confidentially  over  the 
laureate's  chair,  he  whispered: 

"Hast  thou  in  very  truth  forgotten  thy  rashness  of  last 


WASTED  PASSION  379 

night,  Sah-luma?     Surely  thou  must  guess  how  unquiet 
I  have  been  concerning  thee!    Tell  me,  was  thy  hot  pur- 
suit in  vain,  or  didst  thou  discover  the  king?" 

"Peace!"  and  a  quick  frown  darkened  the  smooth 
beauty  of  S?.h-luma's  face  as  he  grasped  Theos'  arm  hard 
to  warn  him  into  silence;  then  forcing  a  smile,  he  an- 
swered in  the  same  low  tone,  "'Twas  not  the  king;  it 
could  not  be!  Thou  wert  mistaken." 

"Nay,  but,"  persisted  Theos  gently,  "convince  me  of 
mine  error!  Didst  thou  overtake  and  steadily  confront 
yon  armed  and  muffled  stranger?" 

"Not  I!"  and  Sah-luma  shrugged  his  shoulders  petu- 
lantly. "Sleep  fell  upon  me  suddenly  when  I  left  thee, 
and  methinks  I  must  have  wandered  home  like  a  shad- 
ow in  a  dream!  Was  I  not  drunk  last  night?  Ay!  and 
so  in  likelihood  wert  thou!  Little  could  we  be  trusted 
to  recognize  either  king  or  clown!"  He  laughed,  then 
added,  "Nevertheless,  I  tell  thee  once  again  'twas  not 
the  king.  His  majesty  hath  too  much  at  stake  to  risk 
so  dangerous  a  pleasantry!" 

Theos  heard,  but  he  was  dissatisfied  and  ill  at  ease; 
Sah-luma's  careless  contentment  increased  his  own  dis- 
quietude. Just  then  a  curious,looking  personage  entered 
the  apartment;  a  gray-haired,  dwarfish  negro,  who  car- 
ried slung  across  his  back  a  large  bundle,  consisting  of 
several  neatly  rolled  up  pieces  of  linen,  one  of  which  he 
presently  detached  from  the  rest,  and  set  down  before 
the  laureate, who  in  return  gave  him  a  silver  coin, at  the 
game  time  asking  jestingly: 

"Is  the  news  worth  paying  for  to  day,  Zibya;  or  is  it 
the  same  ill-written,  clumsy  chronicle  of  trumpery  com- 
monplace events?" 

Zibya,  slipping  the  coin  he  had  received  into  a  wide 
leathern  pouch  which  hung  from  his  girdle,  appeared  to 
meditate  a  moment,  then  he  replied: 

"If  the  truth  must  be  told,  most  illustrious,  there  is 
nothing  whatever  to  interest  the  minds  of  the  cultured. 
The  cheap  scribes  of  the  Daily  Circular  cater  chiefly  for 
the  mob,  and  do  all  in  their  power  to  foster  morbid  qual- 
ities of  disposition  and  murderous  tendencies  among  the 
lower  orders;  hence,  though  there  is  nothing  in  the  news- 
sheet  pertaining  to  literature  or  the  fine  arts,  there  is 
much  concerning  the  sudden  death  of  the  young  sculptor 


280  "ARDATH" 

Nir-jalis,  whose    body  was  found   flung   on  the  banks  of 
the  river  this  morning." 

Theos  started.  Sah-luma  listened  with  placid  indiffer- 
ence. "'Tis  a  case  of  self-slaughter,"  pursued  Zibya 
chattily,  "or  so  say  the  wise  writers  who  are  supposed  to 
know  everything — self-slaughter  committed  during  a  state 
of  temporary  insanity!  Well,  well!  I  myself  would  have 
had  a  different  opinion." 

"And  a  sagacious  one,  no  doubt!"  interrupted  Sah- 
luma  coldly,  and  with  a  dangerous  flash  as  of  steel  in  his 
eyes;  "but  be  advised,  good  Zibya!  give  thine  .opinion 
no  utterance!" 

The  -old  negro  shrank  back  nervously,  making  numer- 
ous apologetic  gestures,  and  waited  in  abashed  silence 
till  the  laureate's  features  regained  their  wonted  soft 
serenity.  Then  he  ventured  to  speak  again,  though  not 
without  a  little  hesitation. 

"Concerning  the  topics  of  the  hour,"  he  murmured 
timorously,  "my  lord  is  perhaps  not  aware  that  the  river 
itself  is  a  subject  of  much  excited  discussion,  the  water 
having  changed  to  a  marvelous  blood-color  during  the 
night,  which  singular  circumstance  hath  caused  a  great 
panic  among  the  populace.  Even  now  as  I  passed  by 
the  embankment,  the  crowd  there  was  thick  as  a  hive  of 
swarming  bees!" 

He  paused,  but  Sah-luma  made  no  remark,  and  he 
continued  more  glibly:  "Also,  to-day's  Circular  contains 
the  full  statement  of  the  king's  reward  for  the  capture 
of  the  prophet  Khosrul,  and  the  formal  programme  of 
the  sacrificial  ceremonial  announced  to  take  place  this 
evening  in  the  Temple  of  Nagaya.  All  is  set  forth  in 
the  fine  words  of  the  petty  public  scribes,  who  needs 
must  make  as  much  as  possible  out  of  little, and  there  is 
likewise  a  so-called  fac-simile  of  the  king's  signature, 
which  will  naturally  be  of  supreme  interest  to  the  vulgar. 
Furthermore,  it  is  proclaimed  that  a  grand  combat  of 
wild  beasts  in  the  royal  arena  will  follow  immediately 
after  the  service  in  the  temple  is  concluded;  methinks 
none  will  go  to  bed  early,  seeing  there  is  so  full  a  list 
of  amusements!" 

He  paused  again,  somewhat  out  of  breath,  And  Sah- 
luma  meanwhile  unrolled  the  linen  scroll  he  had  pur- 
chased, which  measured  about  twenty-four  inches  in 


WASTED    PASSION  28l 

length  and  twenty  in  width.  Carefully  ruled  black  and 
red  lines  divided  it  into  nearly  the  same  number  of  col- 
umns as  those  on  the  page  of  an  ordinary  newspaper, 
and  it  was  covered  with  close  writing,  here  and  there 
embellished  by  bold,  profusely  ornamented  headings. 
One  of  these,  "Death  of  the  Sculptor  Nir-jalis, "  seemed 
to  burn  into  Theos'  brain  like  letters  of  fire.  How  was 
it,  he  wondered,  that  the  body  of  that  unfortunate  victim 
had  been  found  on  the  shore  of  the  river,  when  he  him- 
self had  seen  it  loaded  with  iron  weights,  and  cast  into 
the  lake  that  formed  part  of  Lysia's  fatal  garden?  Pres- 
ently Sah-luma  passed  the  scroll  to  him  with  a  smile, 
saying  lightly: 

"There,  my  friend,  is  a  specimen  of  the  true  mob  lit- 
erature! written  to-day,  forgotten  to-morrow!  'Tis  a 
droll  thing  to  meditate  upon,  the  ephemeral  nature  of 
all  this  pouring  out  of  unnecessary  words  and  stale  stock 
phrases!  And  wouldst  thou  believe  it,  Theos!  each  lit- 
tle paid  scribe  that  adds  his  poor  quota  to  this  ill-assorted 
trash  deems  himself  wiser  and  greater  far  than  any  poet 
or  philosopher  dead  or  living!  Why,  in  this  very  news 
sheet  I  have  seen  the  immortal  works  of  the  divine 
Hyspiros  so  hacked  by  the  blunt  knives  of  ignorant  and 
vulgar  criticism  that,  by  my  faith!  were  it  not  for  con- 
tempt, one  would  be  disposed  to  nail  the  hands  of  such 
trumpery  scribblers  to  a  post,  and  scourge  their  bare 
backs  with  thorny  rods  to  cure  them  of  their  insolence. 
Nay,  even  my  fool  Zabastes  hath  found  place  in  these 
narrow  columns,  to  write  his  carping  diatribes  against 
me,  the  king's  laureate!  As  I  live,  his  cumbersome  dic- 
tion hath  caused  me  infinite  mirth,  and  I  have  laughed 
at  his  crabbed  and  feeble  wit  till  my  sides  have  ached 
most  potently!  Now  get  thee  gone,  fellow!  thou  and 
thy  news!"  and  he  nodded  a  good-humored  dismissal  to 
the  deferential  Zibya,  who,  with  his  woolly  grayhead 
very  much  on  one  side,  stood  listening  gravely  and  ap- 
provingly to  all  that  was  said.  "Yet  stay!  has  gossip 
whispered  thee  the  name  of  the  poor  virgin  self- destined 
for  this  evening's  sacrifice?" 

"No,  my  lord,"  responded  Zibya  promptly,  "'tis  veiled 
in  deeper  mystery  than  usual.  I  have  inquired  of  many, 
but  in  vain,  and  even  the  chief  flamen  of  the  outside  court 
of  the  temple,  always  drunk  and  garrulous  as  he  is,  can 


282  "ARDATH" 

tell  me  naught  of  the  holy  victim's  title  or  parentage. 
' 'Tis  a  passing  fair  wench!'  said  he,  with  a  chuckle, 
'that  is  all  I  know  concerning  her — a  passing  fair  wench!' 
Ah!"  and  Zibya  rolled  up  the  whites  of  his  eyes  and 
sighed  in  a  comically  contemplative  manner,  "if  ever  a 
flamen  deserved  exclusion  from  his  office,  it  is  surely  yon 
ancient,  crafty,  carnal-minded  soul!  So  keen  a  glance 
for  a  woman's  beauty  is  not  a  needful  qualification  for 
a  servant  of  the  Snake  divine!  Methinks  we  have  fallen 
upon  evil  days!  maybe  the  crazsd  prophet  is  right  after 
ail,  and  things  are  coming  to  an  end!" 

"Like  thy  discourse,  I  hope,  Zibya!  '  observed  Sah- 
luma,  yawning  and  flinging  himself  lazily  back  on  his 
velvet  couch.  "Get  hence,  and  serve  thy  customers  with 
their  cheap  news;  depend  upon  it,  some  of  them  are 
cursing  thee  mightily  for  thy  delay!  And  if  thou  shouldst 
chance  to  meet  the  singing  maiden  of  my  household, 
Niphrata,  bid  her  make  haste  homeward  ;  she  hath  been 
absent  since  the  break  of  morn,  too  long  for  my  content- 
ment. Maybe  I  did  unwisely  to  give  the  child  her  free- 
dom; as  slave  she  would  not  have  presumed  to  gad 
abroad  thus  wantonly,  without  her  lord's  permission. 
Sa)*,  if  thou  seest  her,  that  I  am  wrathful;  the  thought 
of  mine  anger  will  be  as  a  swift  wing  to  waft  her  hither 
like  a  trembling  dove,  afraid,  all  penitent  and  eager  for 
my  pardon!  Remember!  be  sure  thou  tell  her  of  my 
deep  displeasure!" 

Zibya.  bowed  profoundly,  his  outstretched  hands  almost 
touching  the  floor  in  the  servility  of  his  obeisance,  and 
backed  out  of  the  room  as  humbly  as  though  he  were 
leaving  the  presence  of  royalty.  When  he  had  gone, 
Theos  looked  up  from  the  news-scroll  he  was  perusing: 

"Is  it  not  strange  Niphrata  should  have  left  thee 
thus,  Sah-luma?"  he  said  with  a  touch  of  anxiety  in  his 
tone.  "Maybe"  and  he  hesitated,  conscious  of  a  strange 
unbidden  remorse  that,  suddenly  and  without  any  ap- 
parent reason,  overwhelmed  his  conscience — "Maybe  she 
was  not  happy?" 

"Not  happy!"  ejaculated  Sah-luma  amazedly,  "not 
happy  with  me;  not  happy  in  my  house,  protected  by 
my  patronage?  Where  then,  if  not  here,  could  she  find 
happiness?" 

And  his  beautiful,  flashing  eyes    betokened    his  entire 


WASTED   PASSION  283 

and  naive  astonishment  at  the  mere  supposition.  Theos 
smiled  involuntarily.  How  charming,  after  all,  was  Sah- 
luma's  sublime  egotism!  how  almost  child-like  was  his 
confidence  in  himself  and  his  own  ability  to  engender 
joy!  All  at  once  the  young  girl  Zoralin  spoke;  her 
accents  were  low  and  timorous: 

"May  it  please  my  lord  Sah-luma  to  hear  me,"  she 
said,  and  paused. 

"Thy  lord  Sah-luma  hears  thee  with  pleasure,  Zoralin," 
replied  the  laureate  gently.  "Thou  dost  speak  more 
sweetly  than  many  a  bird  doth  sing!" 

A  rich,  warm  blush  crimsoned  the  maiden's  cheeks  at 
these  dulcet  words;  she  drew  a  quick,  uneasy  breath, 
and  then  went  on: 

"I  love  Niphrata!"  she  murmured  in  a  soft  tone  of 
touching  tenderness,  "and  I  have  watched  her  often 
when  she  deemed  herself  unseen.  She  has,  methinks, 
shed  many  tears  for  sake  of  some  deep  heart-buried  sor- 
row!  We  have  lived  as  sisters,  sharing  the  same  room, 
and  the  same  couch  of  sleep;  but  alas!  in  spite  of  all 
my  lord's  most  constant  kindly  favor,  Niphrata  is  not 
happy,  and — and  I  have  sometimes  thought,"  here  her 
mellow  voice  sank  into  a  nervous  indistinctness,  "that  it 
maybe  because  she  loves  my  lord  Sah-luma  far  too  well" 

And  as  she  said  this  she  looked  up  with  a  sudden 
affright  in  her  dark,  lovely  eyes,  as  though  she  were 
alarmed  at  her  own  presumption.  Sah-luma  met  her 
troubled  gaze  calmly  and  with  a  bright  smile  of  compla- 
cent vanity. 

"And  dost  thou  plead  for  thine  absent  friend,  Zoralin?" 
he  asked  with  just  sufficient  satire  in  his. utterance  to 
render  it  almost  cruel.  "Am  I  to  blame  for  the  foolish 
fancies  of  all  the  amorous  maidens  in  Al-Kyris?  Many 
there  be  who  love  me — well,  what  then?  Must  I  love 
many  in  return?  Nay!  Not  so!  the  poet  is  the  wor- 
shiper of  ideal  beauty,  and  for  him  the  brief  passions 
of  mortal  men  and  women  serve  as  mere  pastime  to  while 
away  an  hour!  But,  by  my  faith,  thou  hast  gained  won- 
drous boldness  in  thy  speech  to  prate  so  glibly  of  the 
heart's  emotion.  What  knowest  thou  concerning  such 
things,  thou  who  hast  counted  scarcely  fifteen  summers? 
Hast  thou  caught  contagion  from  Niphrata,  and  art 
top.  §ick  for  love?" 


284  "ARDATH" 

Oh,  the  dazzling  smile  with  which  he  accompanied 
this  poignant  question!  the  pitiless,  burning  ardor  he 
managed  to  convey  into  the  sleepy  brilliancy  of  his  soft, 
poetic  eyes!  the  beautiful  languor  of  his  attitude,as  lean- 
ing his  head  back  easily  on  one  arm,  he  turned  upon  the 
shrinking  girl  a  look  that  seemed  intended  to  pierce  into 
the  very  inmost  recesses  of  her  soul!  The  roseate  color 
faded  from  her  cheeks;  white  as  a  marble  image  she 
stood,  her  breath  coming  between  her  lips  in  quick, 
frightened  gasps: 

"My  lord!"  she  stammered,  "I"  here  her  voice  failed 
her,  and  suddenly  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she 
broke  into  a  passion  of  weeping.  Sah-luma's  delicate 
brows  darkened  into  a  close  frown,  and  he  waved  his 
hand  with  a  petulant  gesture  of  impatience. 

"Ye  gods!  what  fools  are  women!"  he  said  wearily. 
"Ever  hovering  uncertainly  on  a  narrow  verge  between 
silly  smiles  and  sillier  tears!  As  I  live,  they  are  most 
uncomfortable  playfellows!  and  dwelling  with  them  long 
would  drive  all  the  inspiration  out  of  a  man,  no  matter 
how  nobly  he  were  gifted!  Ye  butterflies!  ye  little  flut- 
tering souls!"  and  beginning  to  laugh  as  readily  as  he 
had  frowned,  he  addressed  the  other  maidens,  who, 
though  they  did  not  dare  to  move  or  speak,  were  evi- 
dently affected  by  the  grief  of  their  companion.  "Go 
hence  all!  and  take  this  sensitive  baby  Zoralin  into  your 
charge  and  console  her  for  her  fancied  troubles;  'tis  a 
mere  frenzy  of  feminine  weakness  and  will  pass  like  an 
April  shower.  Bat,  by  the  sacred  veil!  if  I  saw  much  of 
woman's  weeping,  I  would  discard  forever  wom-an's  com- 
pany, and  dwell  in  peaceful  hermit  fashion  alone  among 
the  tree  tops!  So  heed  the  warning,  pretty  ones!  Let 
me  witness  none  of  your  tears  if  ye  are  wise,  or  else  say 
farewell  to  Sah-luma,  and  seek  some  less  easy  and  less 
pleasing  service!" 

With  this  injunction  he  signed  to  them  all  to  depart; 
whereupon  the  awed  and  trembling  girls  noiselessly  sur- 
rounded the  still  convulsively  sobbing  Zoralin,  and  gently 
leading  her  away,  they  quickly  withdrew,  each  one  mak- 
ing a  profound  obeisance  to  their  imperious  master  ere 
leaving  his  presence.  When  they  had  finally  disappeared, 
3ah-luma  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"Can  anything  equal  the  perverseness    of  these  frivol- 


WASTED  PASSION  285 

ous  feminine  toys!"  he  murmured  pettishly,  turning  his 
head  round  toward  Theos  as  he  spoke.  "Was  ever  a 
more  foolish  child  than  Zoralin?  Just  as  I  would  fain 
have  consoled  her  for  her  prickling  heartaches,  she  must 
needs  pour  out  a  torrent  of  tear-drops  to  change  my  hu- 
mor and  quench  her  own  delight!  'Tis  the  most  irksome 
inconsistency  !'.' 

Theos  glanced  at  him  with  a  vague  emotion  of  wonder 
and  self-reproachful  sadness.  "Nay,  wouldst  thou  in- 
deed have  consoled  her,  Sah-luma?"  he  inquired  gravely. 
"How?" 

"How?"  and  Sah-lurna  laughed  musically.  "My  simple 
friend,  dost  thou  ask  me  such  a  babe's  question?"  He 
sprang  from  his  couch,  and  standing  erect,  pushed  his 
clustering  dark  hair  off  his  wide,  bold  brows.  "Am  I 
disfigured,  aged,  lame,  or  crooked-limbed?  Cannot  these 
arms  embrace;  these  lips  engender  kisses;  these  eyes 
wax  amorous?  And  shall  not  one  brief  hour  of  love 
with  me  console  the  weariest  maid  that  ever  pined  for 
passion?  Now,  by  my  faith!  how  solemn  is  thy  counte- 
nance! Art  thou  an  anchorite,  good  Theos,  and  wouldst 
thou  have  me  scourge  my  flesh  and  groan,  because  the 
gods  have  given  me  youth  and  vigorous  manhood?" 

He  drew  himself  up  with  an  inimitable  gesture  of  pride; 
his  attitude  was  statuesque  and  noble,  and  Theos  looked 
at  him  as  he  would  have  looked  at  a  fine  picture,  with 
a  sense  of  critically  satisfied  admiration. 

"Most  assuredly  I  am  no  anchorite,  Sah-luma!"  he 
said,  smiling  slightly,  yet  with  a  touch  of  sorrow  in  his 
voice.  "But  methinks  the  consolement  thou  wouldst 
offer  to  enamored  maids  is  far  more  dangerous  than 
lasting!  Thy  love  to  them  means  ruin,  thy  embraces 
shame,  tl.y  unthinking  passion  death!  What!  wilt  thou 
be  a  spendthrift  of  desire?  Wilt  thou  drain  the  fond 
souls  of  women  as  a  bee  drains  the  sweetness  of  flowers? 
Wilt  thou,  being  honey-cloyed,  behold  them  droop  and 
wither  around  thee,  and  wilt  thou  leave  them  utterly 
destroyed  and  desolate?  Hast  thou  no  vestige  of  a 
heart,  my  friend;  a  poet-heart  to  feel  the  misery  of  the 
world,  the  patient  grief  of  all  appealing  nature,  com- 
mingled with  the  dreadful  yet  majestic  silence  of  an  un- 
known God?  Oh,  surely  thou  hast  this  supremest  gift 
of  genius — this  loving,  enduring,  faithful,  sympathetic 


286  "ARDATH" 

heart!  for  without  it,  how  shall  thy  fame  be  neld  long 
in  remembrance?  How  shall  thy  muse-grown  laurels 
escape  decay?  Tell  me!"  and  leaning  forward,  he  caught 
his  friend's  hand  in  his  eagerness.  "Thou  art  not  made 
of  stone,  tnou  art  human,  thou  art  not  exempt  from 
mortal  suffering." 

"Not  exempt — no!"  interposed  Sah-luma  thoughtfully, 
"but,  as  yet,  I  have  never  really  suffered!" 

Never  really  suffered!  Theos  dropped  the  hand  he 
held,  and  an  invisible  barrier  seemed  to  rise  slowly  up 
between  him  and  his  beautiful  companion.  Never  really 
suffered !  then  he  was  no  true  poet  after  all,  if  he  was 
ignorant  of  sorrow!  If  he  could  not  spiritually  enter 
into  the  pathos  of  speechless  griefs  and  unshed  tears,  if 
he  could  not  absorb  into  his  own  being  the  prayers  and 
plaints  of  all  creation,  and  utter  them  aloud  in  burning 
and  immortal  language,  his  calling  was  in  vain,  is  elec- 
tion futile!  This  thought  smote  Theos  with  the  strength 
of  a  sudden  blow;  he  sat  silent,  and  weighted  with  a 
dreary  feeling  of  disappointment  to  which  he  was  unable 
to  give  any  fitting  expression. 

"I  have  never  really  suffered,"  repeated  Sah-luma 
slowly,  "but — I  have  imagined  suffering!  That  is  enough 
for  me!  The  passions,  the  tortures,  the  despairs  of  im- 
agination are  greater  far  than  the  seeming  'rea?  petty 
afflictions  with  which  human  beings  daily  perplex  them- 
selves. Indaed,  I  have  often  wondered," — here  his  eyes 
grew  more  earnest  and  reflective  —  "whether  this  busy 
working  of  the  brain  called  'imagination'  may  not  per- 
haps be  a  special  phase  or  supreme  effort  of  memory, 
and  that  therefore  we  do  not  imagine  so  much  as  we  re- 
member. For  instance,  if  we  have  ever  lived  before, 
our  present  recollection  may,  in  certain  exalted  states 
of  the  mind,  serve  to  bring  back  the  shadow-pictures  of 
things  long  gone  by,  good  or  evil  deeds,  scenes  of  love 
and  strife,  the  real  and  divine  events,  in  which  we  have 
possibly  enacted  each  our  different  parts  as  unwittingly 
as  we  enact  them  here!"  He  sighed  and  seemed  some- 
what troubled,  but  presently  continued  in  a  lighter  tone, 
"Yet,  after  all,  it  is  not  necessary  for  the  poet  to  per- 
sonally experience  the  emotions  whereof  he  writes.  The 
divine  Hyspiros  depicts  murderers,  cowards  and  slaves 
in  his  sublime  tragedies,  but  thinkest  thou  it  was  essen- 


WASTED   PASSION  287- 

tial  for  him  to  become  a  murderer, coward, and  slave  him. 
self  in  order  to  delineate  these  characters?  And  I — I 
write  of  love,  love  spiritual,  love  eternal,  love  fitted  for 
the  angels  I  have  dreamed  of,  but  not  for  such  animals 
as  men,  and  what  matters  it  that  I  know  naught  of  such 
love,  unless  perchance  I  knew  it  years  ago  in  some  far 
off,  fairer  sphere!  For  me  the  only  charm  of  worth  in 
woman  is  bea*uty!  Beauty!  to  its  entrancing  sway  my 
senses  all  make  swift  surrender — " 

"Oh,  too  swift  and  too  degrading  a  surrender!"  inter- 
rupted Theos  suddenly, with  reproachful  vehemence.  "Thy 
words  do  madden  patience!  Better  a  thousand  times  that 
thou  shotildst  perish,  Sah-luma,  now  in  the  full  pleni- 
tude of  thy  poet  glory,  than  thus  confess  thyself  a  prey 
to  thine  own  passions,  a  credulous  victim  of  Lysia's 
treachery!" 

For  one  second  the  laureate  stood  amazed;  the  next, 
he  sprang  upon  his  guest  and  grasped  him  fiercely  by  the 
throat. 

"Treachery?"  he  muttered  with  white  lips,  "treachery? 
Darest  thou  speak  of  treachery  and  Lysia  in  the  same 
breath?  O  thou  rash  fool!  dost  thou  blaspheme  my 
lady's  name  and  yet  not  fear  to  die?" 

And  his  lithe  brown  fingers  tightened  their  clutch. 
But  Theos  cared  nothing  for  his  own  life  ;  some  inward 
excitation  of  feeling  kept  him  resolute  and  perfectly  con- 
trolled. 

"Kill  me,  Sah-luma!"  he  gasped.  "Kill  me,  friend 
whom  I  love!  death  will  be  easy  at  thy  hands!  Deprive 
me  of  my  sad  existence;  'tis  better  so,  than  that  I  should 
have  slain  thee  last  night  at  Lysia's  bidding!" 

At  this,  Sah-luma  suddenly  released  his  hold  and 
started  backward  with  a  sharp  cry  of  anguish;  his  face 
was  pale,  and  his  beautiful  eyes  grew  strained  and  pit- 
eous. 

"Slain  me! — me!  at  Lysia's  bidding!"  he  murmured 
wildly,  "O  ye  gods,  the  world  grows  dark!  Is  the  sun 
quenched  in  heaven?  At  Lysia's  bidding!  Nay,  by 
my  soul,  my  sight  is  dimmed!  I  see  naught  but  flaring 
red  in  the  air.  Why!"  and  he  laughed  discordantly, 
"thou  poor  Theos,  thou  shalt  use  no  dagger's  point,  for  lo! 
I  am  dead  already!  Thy  words  have  killed  me!  Go, 
tell  her  how  well  her  cruel  mission  hath  sped,  my  very 


288  "ARDATH" 

soul  is  slain,  at  her  bidding!  Hasten  to  her,  wilt  thou?" 
and  his  accents  trembled  with  pathetic  plaintiveness. 
"Say  I  am  gone!  lost!  drawn  into  a  night  of  everlasting 
blackness,  like  a  taper  blown  swiftly  out  by  the  wind; 
tell  her  that  Sah-luma — the  poe..  Sah-luma,  the  foolish, 
credulous  Sah-luma  who  loved  her  so  madly — is  no 
more!" 

His  voice  broke,  his  head  drooped,  while  Theos,  whose 
every  nerve  throbbed  in  responsive  sympathy  with  the 
passion  of  his  despair,  strove  to  think  of  some  word  of 
comfort,  that,  like  soothing  balm,  might  temper  the 
bitterness  of  his  chafed  and  wounded  spirit,  but  could 
find  none.  For  it  was  a  case  in  which  the  truth  must 
be  told,  and  truth  is  always  hard  to  bear  if  it  destroys, 
or  attempts  to  destroy,  any  one  of  our  cherished  self- 
delusions! 

"My  friend,  my  friend!"  he  said  presently  with  gentle 
earnestness,  "control  this  fury  of  thy  heart!  Why  such 
unmanly  sorrow  for  one  who  is  not  worthy  of  thee?" 

Sah-luma  looked  up;  his  black,  silky  lashes  were  wet 
with  tears. 

"Not  worthy!  Oh,  the  old,  poor  consolation!"  he 
exclaimed,  quickly  dashing  the  drops  from  his  eyes. 
"Not  worthy?  No!  what  mortal  woman  is  ever  worthy 
of  a  poet's  love?  Not  one  in  all  the  world!  Neverthe- 
less, worthy  or  unworth} ,  true  or  treacherous,  naught 
can  make  Lysia  otherwise  than  fair!  Fair  beyond  all 
fairness!- and  I — I  was  sole  possessor  of  her  beauty!  for 
me  her  eyes  warmed  into  stars  of  fire,  for  me  her  kisses 
ripened  in  their  pearl  and  ruby  nest, all — all  forme!  and 
now — "  He  flung  himself  desolately  on  his  couch,  and 
fixed  his  wistful  gaze  on  his  companion's  grave,  pained 
countenance,  till  all  at  once  a  hopeful  light  flashed 
across  his  features — a  light  that  seemed  to  shine  through 
him  like  an  inwardly  kindled  flame. 

"Ah!  what  a  querulous  fool  am  I?"  he  cried  joyously, 
so  joyously  that  Theos  knew  not  whether  to  be  glad  or 
sorry  at  his  sudden  and  capricious  change  of  mood. 
"Why  should  I  thus  bemoan  myself  for  fancied  wrong? 
Good,  noble  Theos,  thou  hast  been  misled!  My  Lysia's 
words  were  to  try  thy  mettle!  to  test  thee  to  the  core, 
and  prove  thee  truly  faithful  as  Sah-luma's  friend.  She 
bade  thae  slay  me?  Even  so  but  hadst  thou  rashly  un- 


WASTED   PASSION  289 

dertaken  such  a  deed,  thine  own  life  would  have  paid 
tiie  forfeit!  Now  1  begin  to  understand  it  all — 'tis  plain!" 
and  his  face  grew  brighter  and  brighter,  as  he  cheated 
himself  into  the  pleasing  idea  his  own  fancy  had  sug- 
gested ;  "she  tried  thee,  she  tempted  thee,  she  found 
thee  true  and  incorruptible.  Ah!  'twas  a  jest,  my  friend" 
arid  entirely  recovering  from  his  depression,  he  clapped 
his  hand  heartily  on  Theos'  shoulder.  "'Twas  all  a  jest! 
and  she,  the  fair  inquisitor,  will  herself  prove  it  so  ere 
long,  and  make  merry  with  our  ill-omened  fears!  Why, 
I  can  laugh  now  at  mine  own  despondency!  Come, 
look  thou  also  more  cheerily,  gentle  Theos,  and  pardon 
these  uncivil  fingers  that  so  nearly  gripped  thee  into  si- 
lence!" and  he  laughed.  "Thcu  art  the  best  and  kind- 
est of  loyal  comrades,  and  I  will  so  assure  Lysia  of  thy 
merit,  that  she  shall  institute  no  more  torture  trials  upon 
thy  frank  and  trusting  nature.  Heigho!"  and  stretch- 
ing out  this  arms  lazily,  he  heaved  a  sigh  of  tranquil  sat- 
isfaction, "methought  I  was  wounded  unto  death!  but 
'twas  the  mere  fancied  prick  of  an  arrow  after  all,  and 
I  am  well  again  !  What,  art  thou  still  melancholy,  still 
somber?  Nay,  surely  thou  wilt  not  be  a  veritable  kill- 
joy?" 

Theos  stood  mute  and  sorely  perplexed.  He  saw  at 
once  how  useless  it  was  now  to  try  and  convince  Sah- 
luma  of  any  danger  threatening  him  through  the  instiga- 
tion of  the  woman  he  loved;  he  would  never  believe  it! 
And  yet — something  must  be  done  to  put  him  on  his 
guard.  Taking  up  the  scroll  of  the  public  news,  where 
the  account  of  the  finding  of  the  body  of  Nir-jalis  was 
written  with  all  that  exaggerated  attention  to  repulsive 
details  which  seems  to  be  a  special  gift  of  the  cheap 
reporters,  Theos  pointed  to  it. 

''His  was  a  cruel  end!"  he  said  in  a  low,  uncertain 
voice.  "Sah-lmua,  canst  thou  expect  mercy  from  a 
woman  who  has  once  been  so  merciless?" 

"Bah!"  returned  the  laureate  lightly.  "Who  and  what 
was  Nir-jalis?  A  hewer  of  stone  images — a  nobody!  he 
will  not  be  missed!  Besides,  he  is  only  one  of  many 
who  have  perished  thus." 

Only  one  of  many!"  ejaculated  Theos  with  a  shudder 
of  aversion,  "and  yet,  O  thou  most  reckless  and  mis- 
judged soul!  thou  dost  love  this  wanton  murderers!" 


29°  "AfcDATH*' 

A  warm  flush  tinted  Sah-luma's  olive  skin ;  his  hand 
clenched  and  unclenched  slowly,  as  though  he  held  some 
struggling  prisoned  thing,  and  raising  his  head  he  looked 
at  his  companion  full  and  steadily, with  a  singularly  sol- 
emn and  reproving  expression  in  his  luminous  eyes. 

"Hast  thou  not  loved  her  also?"  he  demanded,  a  faint 
serious  smile  curving  his  lips  as  he  spoke.  "If  only  for 
the  space  of  some  few  passing  moments,  was  not  thy 
soul  ravished,  thy  heart  enslaved,  thy  manhood  conquered 
by  her  spell?  Ay!  Thou  dost  shrink  at  that!"  And  his 
smile  deepened  as  Theos,  suddenly  conscience-stricken, 
avoided  his  friend's  too  scrutinizing  gaze.  "Blame  me 
not,  therefore,  for  thine  own  weakness!" 

He  paused,  then  went  on  slowly,  with  a  meditative 
air,  "I  love  her,  yes!  as  a  man  must  always  love  the 
woman  that  baffles  him,  the  woman  whose  moods  are 
complex  and  fluctuating  as  the  winds  on  the  seas,  and 
whose  humor  sways  between  the  softness  of  the  dove 
and  the  fierceness  of  the  tiger.  Nothing  is  more  fatally 
fascinating  to  the  masculine  sense  than  such  a  crea- 
ture, more  especially  if  to  this  temperament  is  united 
rare  physical  grace,  combined  with  keen  intellectual 
power.  'Tis  vain  to  struggle  against  the  irresistible 
witchery  exercised  over  us  by  the  commingling  of  beauty 
and  ferocity.  We  see  it  in  the  wild  animals  of  the  for- 
est, and  the  highest  soaring  birds  of  the  air,  and  we  like 
nothing  better  than  to  hunt  it,  capture  it,  tame  it,  or — 
kill  it!  as  suits  our  pleasure!" 

He  paused  again,  and  again  smiled — a  grave,  reluc- 
tant, doubting  smile,  such  as  seemed  to  Theos  oddly  fa- 
miliar, suggesting  to  his  bewildering  fancy  that  he  must 
have  seen  it  before,  on  his  own  face,  reflectd  in  a  mir- 
ror! 

"Even  thus  do  I  love  Lysia!"  continued  Sah  luma. 
"She  perplexes  me,  she  opposes  her  will  to  mine;  the 
very  irritation  and  ferment  into  which  I  am  thrown 
by  her  presence,  adds  fire  to  my  genius,  and  but  for  the 
spur  of  this  never  satiated  passion,  who  knows  whether 
I  should  sing  so  well!" 

He  was  silent  for  a  little  space;  then  he  resumed  in 
a  more  ordinary  tone: 

"The  wretched  Nir  jalis,  whose  fate  thou  dost  so  per- 
sistently deplore,  deserved  his  end  for  his  presumption; 


WASTED   PASSION  2gi 

didst  thou  not  hear  his  insolent    insinuation    concerning 
the  king?" 

"I  heard  it — yes!"  replied  Theos,  "and  I  saw  no  harm 
in  the  manner  of  its  utterance." 

"No  harm!"  exclaimed  Sah-luma  excitedly,  "no  harm! 
Nay,  but  I  forget!  thou  art  a  stranger  in  Al-Kyris,  and 
therefore  thou  art  ignorant  of  the  last  words  spoken  by 
the  Sacred  Oracle  some  hundred  or  more  years  ago.  They 
are  these: 

11 '  When  the  high-priestess 
Is  the  king's  mistress, 
Then  fall  Al-Kyris!' 

'Tis  absolute  doggerel,  and  senseless  withal;  never- 
theless it  hath  caused  the  enactment  of  a  law,  which  is 
to  the  effect  that  the  reigning  monarch  of  Al-Kyris  shall 
never,  under  an)'  sort  of  pretext,  confer  with  the  high- 
priestess  of  the  temple  on  any  business  whatsoever,  and 
that,  furthermore,  he  shall  never  be  permitted  to  look 
upon  her  face  except  at  the  times  of  public  service  and 
state  ceremonials.  Now,  dost  thou  not  at  once  perceive 
how  vile  were  the  suggestions  of  Nir-jalis,  and  also  how 
foolish  was  thy  fancy  last  night  with  regard  to  the  armed 
masquerader  thou  didst  see  in  Lysia's  garden?" 

Theos  made  no  reply,  but  sat  absorbed  in  his  own  re- 
flections. He  began  now  to  understand  much  that  had 
before  seemed  doubtful  and  mysterious.  No  wonder, 
he  thought,  that  Zephoranim's  fury  against  the  audacious 
Xhosrul  had  been  so  excessive!  For  had  not  the  crazed 
prophet  called  Lysia  an  "unvirgined  virgin  and  queen 
courtesan?"  And  according  to  Sah-luma's  present  ex- 
planation, nothing  more  dire  and  offensive  in  the  way  of 
open  blasphemy  could  well  be  uttered!  Yet  the  question 
still  remained,  wasKhosrul  right  or  wrong?  This  was 
a  problem  which  Theos  longed  to  investigate  and  yet  re- 
coiled from.  Instinctively  he  felt  that  upon  its  answer 
hung  the  fate  of  Al-Kyris,  and  also,  what  just  then 
seemed  more  precious  than  anything  else,  the  life  of 
Sah-luma.  He  could  not  decide  with  himself  why  this 
was  so;  he  simply  accepted  his  own  inward  assurance 
that  so  it  was.  Presently  he  inquired: 

"How  comes  it,  Sah-luma,  that  the  corpse  of  Nir- 
jalis  was  found  on  the  shores  of  the  river?  Did  we  not 
see  it  weighted  with  iron  and  laid  elsewhere?" 


292  "ARDATH" 

"O  simpleton!"  laughed  Sah-luma,  "thinkest  thou 
Lysia's  lake  of  lilies  is  a  common  grave  for  criminals? 
The  body  of  Nir-jalis  sank  therein,  'tis  true;  but  was 
there  no  after-means  of  lifting  it  from  thence,  and  plac- 
ing it  where  best  such  carrion  should  be  found?  Hath 
not  the  high-priestess  of  Nagaya  slaves  enough  to  work 
her  will?  Verily  thou  dost  trouble  thyself  overmuch 
concerning  these  trivial  every-day  occurrences.  I  marvel 
at  thee!  Hundreds  have  drained  the  silver  nectar  gladly 
for  so  fair  a  woman's  sake,  hundreds  will  drink  it  gladly 
still  for  the  mere  privilege  of  living  some  brief  days  in 
presence  of  such  peerless  beauty!  But,  speaking  of  the 
river,  didst  thou  remark  it  on  thy  way  hither?  ' 

"Ay!"  responded  Theos  dreamily.  '"Twas  red  as 
blood!" 

"Strange!"  and  Sah-luma  looked  thoughtful  for  an  in- 
stant; then  rousing  himself,  said  lightly,  "'Tis  from 
some  simple  cause,  no  doubt,  yet  'twill  create  a  silly 
panic  in  the  city,  and  all  the  fanatics  for  Khosrul's  new 
creed  will  troop  forth,  shouting  afresh  their  prognostica- 
tions of  death  and  doom.  By  my  faith,  'twill  be  a  most 
desperate  howling!  and  I'll  not  walk  abroad  till  the 
terror  hath  abated.  Moreover,  I  have  work  to  do.  Some 
lately  budded  thoughts  of  mine  have  ripened  into  glo- 
rious conclusion,  and  Zabastes  hath  orders  presently  to 
attend  me  that  he  may  take  my  lines  down  from  mine 
own  dictation.  Thou  shall  hear  a  most  choice  legend 
of  love  an*  thou  wilt  listen — "  here  he  laid  his  hand 
affectionately  on  Theo's  shoulder — "a  legend  set  about, 
methinks,  with  wondrous  jewels  of  poetic  splendor!  'Tis 
a  rare  privilege  I  offer  thee,  my  friend,  for  as  a  rule 
Zabastes  is  my  only  auditor  ;  but  I  would  swear  thou  art 
no  plagiarist,and  wouldst  not  dishonor  thine  own  intelli- 
gence so  far  as  to  filch  pearls  of  fancy  from  another  min- 
strel! As  well  steal  my  garments  as  my  thoughts!  for 
verily  the  thoughts  are  the  garments  of  the  poet's  soul, 
and  the  common  thief  of  things  petty  and  material  is  no 
whit  more  contemptible  than  he  who  robs  an  author  of 
ideas  wherewith  to  deck  the  bareness  of  his  own  poor 
wit!  Come,  place  thyself  at  ease  upon  this  cushioned 
couch,  and  give  me  thy  attention.  I  feel  the  fervor  rising 
full  within  me — I  will  summon  Zabastes,"  hare  he 
pulled  a  small  silken  cord  which  at  once  set  a  clanging 


"NOURHALMA"  293 

bell  echoing  loudly  through  the  palace.  "And  thou  shall 
freely  hear,  and  freely  judge  the  latest  offspring  of  my 
fertile  genius,  my  lyrical  romance  'Nourhalma!'" 

Theos  started  violently.  He  had  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty to  restrain  the  anguished  cry  that  rose  to  his  lips. 
"Nourhalma!"  O  memory!  slow  filtering,  reluctant  mem- 
ory! why,  why  was  his  brain  thus  tortured  with  these 
conflicting  pangs  of  piteous  recollection!  Little  by  lit- 
tle, like  sharp,  deep  stabs  of  nervous  suffering,  there 
came  back  to  him  a  few  faint,  fragmentary  suggestions, 
which  gradually  formed  themselves  into  a  distinct  and 
comprehensive  certainty:  "Nourhalma"  was  the  title 
of  his  own  poem — the  poem  he  had  written,  surely  not 
so  very  long  ago,  among  the  mountains  of  the  Pass  of 
Dariel! 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"NOURHALMA.  " 

His  first  emotion  on  making  this  new  mental  re-dis- 
covery was,  as  it  had  been  before  the  king's  audience 
hall,  one  of  absolute  terror,  feverish,  mad  terror,  which 
for  a  few  moments  possessed  him  so  utterly  that,  turn- 
ing away,  he  buried  his  aching  head  among  the  cushions 
where  he  reclined,  in  order  to  hide  from  his  companion's 
eyes  any  outward  sign  that  might  betray  his  desperate 
misery.  Clenching  his  hands  convulsively,  he,  silently 
and  with  all  his  strength,  combated  the  awful  horror  of 
himself  that  grew  up  spectrally  within  him,  the  dread- 
ful, distracting  uncertainty  of  his  own  identity  that  again 
confused  his  brain  and  paralyzed  his  reason. 

At  last,  he  thought  wildly,  at  last  he  knew  the  mean- 
ing of  hell  !  the  frightful  spiritual  torment  of  a  baffled 
intelligence  set  adrift  among  the  wrecks  and  shadows  of 
things  that  had  formerly  been  its  pride  and  glory!  What 
was  any  physical  suffering  compared  to  such  a  frenzy  of 
mind  agony?  Nothing!  less  than  nothing!  This  was 
the  everlasting  thirst  and  fire  spoken  of  so  vaguely  by 
prophets  and  preachers;  the  thirst  and  fire  of  the  soul's 
unquenchable  longing  to  unravel  the  dismal  tangle  of  its 


294  "ARDATH" 

own  by-gone  deeds  ;  the  striving  forever  in  vain  to  stead* 
fastly  establish  the  wavering  mystery  of  its  own  exist- 
ence! 

"O  God !  God!  what  hast  thou  made  of  me !"  he  groaned 
inwardly,  as  he  endeavored  to  calm  the  tempest  of  his 
unutterable  despair.  "Who  am  I?  Who  was  I  in  that 
far  past  which, like  the  pale  spirit  of  a  murdered  friend, 
haunts  me  so  indistinctly  yet  so  threateningly!  Surely 
the  gift  of  poesy  was  mine!  surely  I,  too,  could  weave 
the  harmony  of  words  and  thoughts  into  a  sweet  and  fit- 
ting music.  How  comes  it  then  that  all  Sah-luma's 
work  is  but  the  reflex  of  my  own?  O  woful,  strange, 
and  bitter  enigma!  when  shall  it  be  unraveled?  'Nour- 
halma!'  'Twas  the  name  of  what  I  deemed  my  master- 
piece! O  silly  masterpiece,  if  it  prove  thus  easy  of  im- 
itation! Yet  stay!  let  me  be  patient!  titles  are  often 
copied  unconsciously  by  different  authors  in  different 
lands,  and  it  may  chance  that  Sah-luma's  poem  is  after 
all  his  own,  not  mine.  Not  mine,  as  were  the  ballads  and 
the  love  ode  ha  chanted  to  the  king  last  night!  O  des- 
tiny! inscrutable,  pitiless  destiny!  rescue  my  tortured 
soul  from  chaos!  declare  unto  me  who,  who  is  the  pla- 
giarist and  thief  of  song — myself  or  Sah-luma?" 

The  more  he  perplexed  his  mind  with  such  questions, 
the  deeper  grew  the  darkness  of  the  inexplicable  dilem- 
ma, to  which  a  fresh  obscurity  was  now  added  in  his  sud- 
denly distinct  and  distressful  remembrance  of  the  "Pass 
of  Dariel."  Where  was  this  place,  he  wondered  wearily? 
When  had  he  seen  it;  whom  had  he  met  there;  and 
how  had  he  come  to  Al-Kyris  from  there?  No  answer 
could  his  vexed  brain  shape  to  these  demands;  he  recol- 
lected the  "Pass  of  Dariel"  just  as  he  recollected  the 
"Field  of  Ardath,"  without  the  least  idea  as  to  what  con- 
nection existed  between  them  and  his  own  personal  ad- 
ventures. Presently  controlling  himself,  he  raised  his 
head  and  ventured  to  look  up.  Sah-luma  stood  beside 
him,  his  fine  face  expressive  of  an  amiable  solicitude. 

"Was  the  sunshine  too  strong,  my  friend,  that  thou 
didst  thus  bury  thine  eyes  in  thy  pillow?"  he  inquired. 
"Pardon  my  discourteous  lack  of  consideration  for  thy 
comfort !  I  love  the  sun  myself  so  well  that  methinks  I 
could  meet  his  burning  rays  at  full  noon-day  and  yet 
take  pleasure  in  the  warmth  of  such  a  golden  smile! 


"NOURHALMA"  295 

But  thou  perchance  art  unaccustomed  to  the  light  of 
eastern  lands,  wherefore  thy  brows  must  not  be  per- 
mitted to  ache  on,  uncared  for.  See!  I  have  lowered 
the  awnings,  they  give  a  pleasant  shade,  and,  in  very 
truth,  the  heat  to  day  is  greater  far  than  ordinary;  one 
would  think  the  gods  had  kindled  some  new  fire  in 
heaven!" 

And  as  he  spoke  he  took  up  a  long  palm-leaf  fan  and 
waved  it  to  and  fro  with  an  exquisitely  graceful  move- 
ment of  wrist  and  arm,  while  Theos,  gazing  at  him  in 
mute  admiration,  forgot  his  own  griefs  for  the  time  in 
the  subtle,  strange,  and  absorbing  spell  exercised  upon 
him  by  his  host's  irresistible  influence.  Just  then,  too, 
Sah-luma  appeared  handsomer  than  ever  in  the  half 
subdued  tints  of  radiance  that  flickered  through  the 
lowered  pale  blue  silken  awnings;  the  effect  of  the  room 
thus  shadowed  was  as  of  a  soft  azure  mountain  mist  lit 
sideways  by  the  sun — a  mist  through  which  the  white 
garmented,  symmetrical  figure  of  the  laureate  stood  forth 
in  curiously  brilliant  outlines,  as  though  every  curve  of 
supple  shoulder  and  prcud  throat  were  traced  with  a 
pencil  of  pure  light.  Scarcely  a  breath  of  air  made  its 
way  through  the  wide-open  casements  ;  the  gentle  dash- 
ing noise  of  the  fountains  in  the  court  alone  disturbed 
the  deep,  warm  stillness  of  the  morning,  or  the  occasional 
sweeping  rustle  of  peacocks'  plumes  as  these  stately 
birds  strutted  majestically  up  and  down,  up  and  down, 
on  the  marble  terrace  outside. 

Soothed  by  the  luxurious  peace  of  his  surroundings, 
the  delirium  of  Theos'  bewildering  affliction  gradually 
abated;  his  tempest-tossed  mind  regained  to  a  certain 
extent  its  equilibrium,  and  falling  into  easy  converse 
with  his  fascinating  companion,  he  was  soon  himself 
again — that  is,  as  much  himself  as  his  peculiar  condition 
permitted  him  to  be.  Yet  he  was  not  altogether  free 
from  a  certain  eager  and  decidedly  painful  suspense  with 
regard  to  the  "Nourhalma"  problem,  and  he  was  con- 
scious of  what  he  in  his  own  opinion  considered  an  ab- 
surd and  unnecessary  degree  of  excitement,  when  the 
door  of  the  apartment  presently  opened  to  admit  Zabas- 
tes,  who  entered,  carrying  several  sheets  of  papyrus  and 
other  materials  for  writing. 

The  old  critic's    countenance    was    expressively    glum 


296  "ARDATH" 

and  ironical;  he,  however,  was  compelled,  like  all  the 
other  paid  servants  of  the  household,  to  make  a  low  and 
respectful  obeisance  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  Sah- 
luma's  presence— an  act  of  homage  which  he  performed 
awkwardly,  and  with  evident  ill-will.  His  master  nodded 
condescendingly  in  response  to  his  reluctant  salute,  and 
signed  to  him  to  take  his  place  at  a  richly  carved  writ- 
ing-table adorned  with  the  climbing  figures  of  winged 
cupids  exquisitely  wrought  in  ivory.  He  obeyed,  shuffling 
thither  uneasily,  and  sniffing  the  rose-fragrant  air  as  he 
went,  like  an  ill-conditioned  cur  scenting  a  foe,  and  seat- 
ing himself  in  a  high-backed  chair,  he  arranged  his  gar- 
ments fussily  about  him,  rolled  up  his  long  embroidered 
sleeves  to  the  elbow,  and  spread  his  writing  implements 
all  over  the  desk  in  front  of  him  with  much  mock-solemn 
ostentation.  Then,  rubbing  his  lean  hands  together,  he 
gave  a  stealthy  glance  of  covert  derision  round  at  Sah- 
luma  and  Theos — a  glance  which  Theos  saw  and  in  his 
heart  resented,  but  which  Sah-luma,  absorbed  in  his  own 
reflections,  apparently  failed  to  notice. 

"All  is  in  readiness,  my  lord!"  he  announced  in  his 
disagreeable  croaking  tones;  "here  are  the  clean  and 
harmless  slips  of  river  reed  waiting  to  be  soiled  and 
spotted  with  my  lord's  indelible  thoughts;  here  also  are 
the  innocent  quills  of  the  white  heron,  as  yet  unstained 
by  colored  writing  fluid,  whether  black,  red,  gold,  sil- 
ver, or  purple!  Mark  you,  most  illustrious  bard,  the 
touching  helplessness  and  purity  of  these  meeak  servants 
of  a  scribbler's  fancy!  Blank  papyrus  and  empty  quills! 
Bethink  you  seriously  whether  it  were  not  better  to 
leave  them  thus  unblemished,  the  simple  products  of 
unfaulty  nature,  than  use  them  to  indite  the  wondrous 
things  of  my  lord's  imagination,  whereof,  all  wondrous 
though  they  seem,  no  man  shall  ever  be  the  wiser!" 

And  he  chuckled,  stroking  his  stubbly  gray  beard  the 
while,  with  a  blandly  suggestive,  yet  malign  look  directed 
at  Sah-luma,  who  met  it  with  a  slight  cold  smile  of 
faintly  amused  contempt. 

"Peace,  fool!"  he  said;  "that  barbarous  tongue  of 
thine  is  like  the  imperfect  clapper  of  a  broken  bell  that 
strikes  forth  harsh  and  undesired  sounds  suggesting  noth- 
ing! Thy  present  duty  is  to  hear,  and  not  to  speak; 
therefore  listen  discerningly  and  write  with  exactitude  : 


"NOURHALMA"  297 

h<j  shall  thy  poor  blank  scrolls  of  reed  grow  rich  with 
gems — gems  of  high  poesy  that  the  whole  world  shall 
hoard  and  cherish  miser-like  when  the  poet  who  created 
their  bright  splendor  is  no  more!" 

He  sighed — a  short, troubled  sigh — and  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment silent  in  an  attitude  of  pensive  thought.  Theos 
watched  him  yearningly,  waiting  in  almost  breathless 
suspense  till  he  should  dictate  aloud  the  first  line  of  his 
poem.  Zabastes  meanwhile  settled  himself  more  com 
lortably  in  his  chair,  and  taking  up  one  of  the  long  quills 
with  which  he  was  provided,  dipped  it  in  a  reddish-pur- 
ple liquid  which  at  once  stained  its  point  to  a  deep 
roseate  hue,  so  that  when  the  light  flickered  upon  it 
from  time  to  time,  it  appeared  as  though  it  were  tipped 
with  fire.  How  intense  the  heat  was,  thought  Theos!  as 
with  one  hand  he  pushed  his  clustering  hair  from  his 
brow,  not  without  noticing  that  his  action  was  imitated 
almost  at  once  by  Sah-luma,  who  also  seemed  to  feel 
the  oppressiveness  of  the  atmosphere.  And  what  a  blaze 
of  blue  pervaded  the  room!  delicate, ethereal  blue,  as  of 
shimmering  lakes  and  summer  skies  melted  together  into 
one  luminous  radiance — radiance  that,  while  filmy,  was 
yet  perfectly  transparent,  and  in  which  the  laureate's 
classic  form  appeared  to  be  gloriously  enveloped,  like 
that  of  some  new  descended  god! 

Theos  rubbed  his  eyes  to  cure  them  of  their  dazzled 
ache ;  what  a  marvelous  scene  it  was  to  look  upon,  he 
mused!  would  he,  could  he  ever  forget  it?  Ah, no!  never, 
never!  not  until  his  dying  day  would  he  be  able  to  ob- 
literate it  from  his  memory,  and  who  could  tell  whether 
even  after  death  he  might  not  still  recall  it ! 

Just  then  Sah-luma  raised  his  hand  by  way  of  signal 
to  Zabastes;  his  face  became  earnest,  pathetic,  even  grand 
in  the  fervent  concentration  cf  his  thoughts;  he  was 
about  to  begin  his  dictation.  Now — now!  and  Theos 
leaned  forward  nervously,  his  heart  beating  with  appre- 
hensive expectation.  Hush!  the  delicious  suave  melody 
of  his  friend's  voice  penetrated  the  silence  like  the  sweet 
harmonic  of  a  harp-string: 

"Write,  said  he  slowly,  "write  first  the  title  of  my 
poem  thus:  'Nourbaima:  A  Love  Legend  of  the  Past.'" 

There  was  a  pause,  cluri;jg  which  the  pen  of  Zabastes 
traveled  quickly  over  the  papyrus  for  a  moment,  then 


298  "'ARDATH" 

stopped.  Theos,  almost  suffocated  with  anxiety,  could 
hardly  maintain  even  the  appearance  of  calmness:  the 
title  proclaimed  with  its  second  appendage  was  precisely 
the  sams  as  that  of  his  own  work,  but  this  did  not  now 
affect  him  so  much.  What  he  waited  for  with  such  pain- 
fully strained  attention,  was  the  first  line  of  the  poem. 
If  it  was  his  line  he  knew  it  already!  it  ran  thus: 

"A  central  sorrow  dwells  in  perfect  joy — " 

Scarcely  had  he  repeated  this  to  himself  inwardly,  than 
Sah-luma,  with  majestic  grace  and  sweetness  of  utterance, 
dictated  aloud: 

"A  central  sorrow  dwells  in  perfect  joy!" 

"Ah,  Godr 

The  sharp  cry,  half  fierce,  half  despairing,  broke  from 
Theos'  quivering  lips  in  spite  of  all  the  efforts  he  made 
to  control  his  agitation,  and  the  laureate  turned  toward 
him  with  a  surprised  and  somewhat  irritated  movement 
that  plainly  evinced  annoyance  at  the  interruption. 

"Pardon,  Sah-luma!"  he  murmured  hastily.  "'Twas 
a  slight  pang  at  the  heart  troubled  me,  a  mere  nothing! 
I  take  shame  to  myself  to  have  cried  out  for  such  a  pin's 
prick!  Speak  on!  thy  first  line  is  as  soft  as  honey-dew, 
as  suggestive  as  the  light  of  dawn  on  sleeping  flowers!" 

And,  leaning  dizzily  back  on  his  couch,  he  closed  his 
eyes  to  shut  in  the  hot  and  bitter  tears  that  welled  up 
rebelliously  and  threatened  to  fall,  notwithstanding  his 
endeavor  to  restrain  them.  His  head  throbbed  and  burned 
as  though  a  chaplet  of  fiery  thorns  encircled  it,  instead 
of  the  once  desired  crown  of  fame  he  had  so  fondly 
dreamed  of  winning! 

Fame?  Alas!  that  bright,  delusive  vision  had  fled 
forever;  there  were  no  glory-laurels  left  growing  for  him 
in  the  fields  of  poetic  art  and  inspiration;  Sah-luma, the 
fortunate  Sah-luma,  had  gathered  and  possessed  them 
all!  Taking  everything  into  serious  consideration,  he 
came  at  last  to  the  deeply  mortifying  conclusion  that  it 
must  be  himself  who  was  the  plagiarist,  the  unconscious 
imitator  of  Sah-luma's  ideas  and  methods — and  the  worst 
of  it  was  that  his  imitation  was  so  terribly  exact! 

Oh,  how  heartily  he  despised  himself  for  his  poor  and 
pitiful  lack  of  originality!  I>own  to  the  very  depths  pf 


"NOURHALMA"  2Q9 

humiliation  he  sternly  abased  his  complaining,  strug- 
gling, wounded,  and  sorely  resentful  spirit;  he  then  and 
there  became  the  merciless  executioner  of  his  own  claims 
to  literary  honor,  and  deliberately  crushing  all  his  past 
ambition,  mutinous  discontent,  and  uncompliant  desires 
with  a  strong  master-hand,  he  lay  quiet,  as  patiently  un- 
moved as  is  a  dead  man  to  the  wrongs  inflicted  on  his 
memory,  and  forced  himself  to  listen  resignedly  to  every 
glowing  line  of  his — no,  not  his — but  Sah-luma's  poem, 
the  lovely, gracious,  delicate, entrancing  poem  he  remem- 
bered so  well!  And  by  and  by,  as  each  mellifluous  stanza 
sounded  softly  on  his  ears,  a  strangely  solemn  tranquility 
swept  over  him — a  most  soothing,  halcyon  calm, as  though 
some  passing  angel's  hand  had  touched  his  brow  in  ben- 
ediction. 

He  looked  at  Sah-luma,  net  enviously  now,  but  all 
admiringly;  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never  heard  a 
sweeter,  tenderer  music  than  the  story  of  "Nourhalma" 
as  recited  by  his  friend.  And  so  to  that  friend  he  silently 
awarded  his  own  wished  for  glory,  praise,  and  everlasting 
fame! — that  glory,  praise,  and  fame  which  had  formerly 
allured  his  fancy  as  being  the  best  of  all  the  world  could 
offer,  but  which  he  now  entirely  and  willingly  relinquished 
in  favor  of  this  more  deserving  and  dear  comrade,  whose 
superior  genius  he  submissively  acknowledged! 

There  was  a  great  quietness  everywhere;  the  rising 
and  falling  inflections  of  Sah-luma's  soft, rich  voice  rather 
deepened  than  disturbed  the  stillness;  the  pen  of  Zabas- 
tes  glided  noiselessly  over  the  slips  of  papyrus,  and  the 
small  sounds  of  the  outer  air,  such  as  the  monotonous 
hum  of  bees  among  the  masses  of  lily-bloom  that  towered 
in  white  clusters  between  the  festooned  awnings;  the 
thirsty  twittering  of  birds  idling  under  the  long  palm 
leaves  to  shelter  themselves  from  the  heat,  and  the  in- 
cessant splash  of  the  fountains,  all  seemed  to  be,  as  it 
were,  mere  appendages  to  enhance  the  breathless  hush 
of  nature.  Presently  Sah-luma  paused,  and  Zabastes, 
heaving  a  sigh  of  relief,  looked  up  from  his  writing  and 
laid  down  his  pen. 

"The  work  is  finished,  most  illustrious?"  he  demanded, 
a  curious  smile  playing  on  his  thin,  satirical  lips. 

"Finished?"  echoed  Sah  luma  disdainfully.  "Nay,  'tis 
but  the  end  of  the  first  canto." 


300  "ARDATH" 

The  scribe  gave  vent  to  a  dismal  groan. 

"Ye  gods!"  he  exclaimed,  "is  there  more  to  come  of 
this  bombastic  ranting  and  vile  torturing  of  phrases  un- 
heard of,  and  altogether  unnatural?  O  Sah-luma!  mar- 
velous Sah-luma!  twaddler  Sah-luma!  what  a  brain-box 
is  thine!  How  full  of  dislocated  word  puzzles  and  sim- 
iles gone  mad!  Now,  as  I  live,  expect  no  mercy  from 
me  this  time!"  and  he  shook  his  head  threateningly,  "for 
if  the  public  news-sheet  will  serve  me  as  mine  anvil,  I 
will  so  pound  thee  in  pieces  with  the  sledge-hammer  of 
my  criticism  that,  by  the  ship  of  the  sun  !  for  once  Al- 
Kyris  shall  be  moved  to  laughter  at  thee!  Mark  me,  good 
tuner  up  of  tinkling  foolishness!  I  will  so  choose  out 
and  handle  thy  feeblest  lines  that  they  shall  seem  but  the 
doggerel  of  a  street  ballad-monger!  I  will  give  so  bald 
an  epitome  of -this  sickly  love-tale  that  it  shall  appear  to 
all  who  read  my  commentary  the  veriest  trash  that  ever 
poet  penned!  Moreover,  I  can  most  admirably  misquote 
thee,  and  distort  thy  meanings  with  such  excellent,  bitter 
jesting  that  thou  thyself  shalt  scarcely  recognize  thine 
own  production!  By  Nagaya's  shrine!  what  a  feast 'twill 
be  for  my  delectation!"  and  he  rubbed  his  hands  glee- 
fully. "With  what  a  weight  of  withering  analysis  lean 
pulverize  this  idyl  of  'Nourhalma'  into  the  dust  and 
ashes  of  a  common-sense  contempt!" 

While  Zabastes  thus  spoke,  Sah-luma  had  helped  him- 
self, by  way  of  refreshment,  to  two  ripe  figs  in  whose 
luscious  crimson  pulp  his  white  teeth  met,  with  all  the 
enjoying  zest  of  a  child's  healthy  appetite.  He  now  held 
up  the  rind  and  stalks  of  these  devoured  delicacies,  and 
smiled. 

"Thus  wilt  thou  swallow  up  my  poem  in  thy  glib  clum- 
siness, Zabastes!"  he  said  lightly,  "and  thus  wilt  thou 
hold  up  the  most  tasteless  portions  of  the  whole  for  the 
judgment  of  the  public!  'Tis  the  manner  of  thy  craft; 
yet  see!"  and  with  a  dexterous  movement  of  his  arm,  he 
threw  the  fruit-peel  through  the  window  far  out  into  the 
garden  beyond.  "There  goes  thy  famous  criticism!"  and 
he  laughed;  "and  those  that  taste  the  fruit  itself  at  first 
hand  will  not  soon  forget  its  flavor!  Nevertheless  I  hope 
indeed  that  thou  wilt  strive  to  slaughter  me  with  thy  blunt 
paper  sword!  I  do  most  mirthfully  relish  the  one-sided 
combat,  in  which  I  stand  in  silence  to  receive  thy  b.Jows, 


"NOURHALMA"  301 

myself  unhurt  and  tranquil  as  a  marble  god  whom  ruffians 
rail  upon!  Do  I  not  pay  thee  to  abuse  me?  Here,  thou 
crusty  soul!  drink  and  be  content!"  And  with  a  charm- 
ing condescension  he  handed  a  full  goblet  of  wine  to  his 
cantankerous  critic,  who  accepted  it  ungraciously,  mut- 
tering in  his  beard  the  necessary  words  of  thanks  for  his 
master's  consideration.  Then,  turning  to  Theos,  the  lau- 
reate continued  : 

"And  thou,  my  friend,  what  dost  thou  think  of  'Nour- 
halma'  so  far?  Hath  it  not  a  certain  exquisite  smooth- 
ness of  rhythm, like  the  ripple  of  a  woodland  stream  clear- 
winding  through  the  reeds?  And  is  there  not  a  tender 
witchery  in  the  delineation  of  my  maiden-heroine,  so 
warmly  fair,  so  wildly  passionate?  Methinks  she  doth 
resemble  some  rich  flower  of  our  tropic  fields,  blooming 
at  sunset  and  dead  at  moonrise!" 

Theos  waited  a  moment  before  replying.  Truth  to  tell, 
he  was  inwardly  overcome  with  shame  to  remember  how 
wantonly  he  had  copied  the  description  of  this  same 
Nourhalma!  and  plaintively  he  wondered  how  he  could 
have  unconsciously  committed  so  flagrant  a  theft!  Sum- 
moning up  all  his  self-possession,  however,  he  answered 
bravely: 

"Thy  work,  Sah-luma,  is  worthy  of  thyself !  need  I 
say  more?  Thou  hast  most  aptly  proved  thy  claim  upon 
the  whole  world's  gratitude — such  lofty  thoughts,  such 
noble  discourse  upon  love,  such  high  philosophy,  where- 
in the  deepest,  dearest  dreams  of  life  are  grandly  pic- 
tured in  enduring  colors — these  things  are  gifts  to  poor 
humanity  whereby  it  must  become  enriched  and  proud! 
Thy  name,  bright  soul,  shall  be  as  a  quenchless  star  on 
the  dark  brows  of  melancholy  Time;  men  gazing  there- 
at shall  wonder  and  adore,  and  even  I,  the  least  among 
thy  friends,  may  also  win  from  thee  a  share  of  glory! 
For,  simply  to  know  thee,  to  listen  to  thy  heaven-in- 
spired utterance,  might  bring  the  most  renownless  stu- 
dent some  reflex  of  thine  honor!  Yes, thou  art  great,  Sah- 
luma!  great  as  the  greatest  of  earth's  gifted  sons  of  song! 
and  with  all  my  heart  I  offer  thee  my  homage,  and  pride 
myself  upon  the  splendor  oi  tny  iam«t 

And  as  the  eager,  enthusiastic  words  came  from  his 
:ips,  he  beheld  Sah-luma's  beautiful  countenance  brighten 
more  and  more,  till  it  appeared  mysteriously  transfigured 


302  "ARDATH" 

into  a  majestic  angel-face  that  for  one  brief  moment  star- 
tled him  by  the  divine  tenderness  of  its  compassionate 
smile!  This  expression,  however,  was  transitory.  It 
passed,  and  the  dark  eyes  of  the  laureate  gleamed  with 
a  merely  serene  and  affectionate  complacency  as  he  said: 

"I  thank  thee  for  thy  praise,  good  Theos!  thou  art  in- 
deed the  friendliest  of  critics!  Hadst  thou  thyself  been 
the  author  of  'Nourhalma'  thou  couldst  not  have  spoken 
with  more  ardent  feeling.  Were  Zabastes  like  thee, 
discerningly  just  and  reasonable, he  would  be  all  unfit  for 
his  vocation,  for  'tis  an  odd  circumstance  that  praise  in 
the  public  news-sheet  does  a  writer  more  harm  than 
good, while  ill-conditioned  and  malicious  abuse  doth  very 
materially  increase  and  strengthen  his  reputation.  Yet, 
after  all,  there  is  a  certain  sense  in  the  argument,  for  if 
much  eulogy  be  penned  by  the  cheap  scribes,  the  reading 
populace  at  once  imagine  these  fellows  have  been  bribed 
to  give  their  over  zealous  approval,  or  that  they  are  close 
friends  and  banquet  comrades  of  the  author  whom  they 
arduously  uphold;  whereas,  on  the  contrary,  if  they  in- 
dulge in  bitter  invective,  flippant  gibing,  or  clumsy  sat- 
ire like  my  amiable  Zabastes  here" — and  he  made  an 
airy  gesture  toward  the  silent  yet  evidently  chafing  critic 
— "(and,  mark  you!  he  is  not  bribed,  but  merely  paid 
fair  wages  to  fulfill  his  chosen  and  professed  calling) — 
why,  thereupon  the  multitude  exclaim,  'What!  this  poet 
hath  such  enemies?  nay  then, how  great  a  genius  he  must 
be!'  and  forthwith  they  clamor  for  his  work,  which,  if  it 
speaks  not  for  itself,  is  then  and  only  then  to  be  deemed 
faulty,  and  meriting  oblivion.  'Tis  the  people's  verdict 
which  alone  gives  fame." 

"And  yet  the  people  are  often  ignorant  of  what  is 
noblest  and  best  in  literature!"  observed  Theos  musingly. 

"Ignorant  in  some  ways,  yes!"  agreed  Sah-luma,  "but 
in  many  others,  no!  They  may  be  ignorant  as  to  why 
they  admire  a  certain  thing,,  yet  they  admire  it  all  the 
same,  because  their  natural  instinct  leads  them  so  to  do. 
And  this  is  the  special  gift  which  endows  the  uncultured 
masses  with  an  occasional  sweeping  advantage  over  the 
cultured  few — the  superiority  of  their  instinct.  As  in 
cases  of  political  revolution, for  example,  while  the  finely 
educated  orator  is  endeavoring  by  all  the  force  of  artful 
rhetoik  to  prove  that  all  is  in  order  and  as  it  should  be, 


"NOURHALMA'*  36$ 

the  mob,  moved  by  one  tremendous  impulse,  discover 
for  themselves  that  everything  is  wrong,  and  moreover 
that  nothing  will  come  right,  unless  the}  .ise  up  and 
take  authority.  Accordingly,  down  go  tha  thrones  and 
the  colleges,  the  palaces,  the  temples  and  the  law 
assemblies,  all  like  so  many  toys  before  the  resi  tless  in- 
stinct of  the  people,  who  revolt  at  injustice,  an6-who  feel 
and  know  when  they  are  injured,  though  they  are  not 
clover  enough  to  explain  where  their  injury  lies.  And 
so, as  they  cannot  talk  about  it  coherently,  any  more  than 
a  lion  struck  by  an  arrow  can  give  a  learned  dissertation 
on  his  wound,  they  act — and  the  hate  and  fury  of  their 
action  upheaves  dynasties!  Again,  reverting  to  the  ques- 
tion of  taste  and  literature,  the  mob,  untaught  and  un- 
trained in  the  subtleties  of  art,  will  applaud  to  the  echo 
certain  grand  and  convincing  home-truths  set  forth  in 
the  plays  of  the  divine  Hyspiros,  simply  because  they 
instinctively  feel  them  to  be  truths,  no  matter  how  far 
they  themselves  may  be  from  acting  up  to  the  standard 
of  morality  therein  contained.  The  more  highly  cultured 
will  hear  the  same  passages  unmoved,  because  they,  in 
the  excess  of  artificially  gained  wisdom,  have  deadened 
their  instincts  so  far  that,  while  they  listen  to  a  truth 
pronounced,  they  already  consider  how  best  they  can 
confute  it,  an.d  prove  the  same  a  lie!  Honest  enthusiasm 
is  impossible  to  the  over  punctilious  and  pedantic  scholar; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  would  have  it  plainly  under- 
stood that  a  mere  brief  local  popularity  is  not  fame.  No! 
for  the  author  who  wins  the  first  never  secures  the  last. 
What  I  mean  is,  that  a  book  or  poem,  to  be  great  and 
keep  its  greatness  hereafter,  must  be  judged  worthy  by 
the  natural  instinct  of  peoples.  Their  decision,  I  own, 
may  be  tardy,  their  hesitation  may  be  prolonged  through 
a  hundred  or  more  years,  but  their  acceptance,  whether 
it  be  declared  in  the  author's  life-time  or  ages  after  his 
death,  must  be  considered  final.  I  would  add,  moreover, 
that  this  world-wide  decision  has  never  yet  been,  and 
never  will  be,  hastened  by  any  amount  of  written  crit- 
icism ;  it  is  the  responsive  beat  of  the  enormous  pulse 
of  life  that  thrills  through  all  mankind,  high  and  low, 
gentle  and  simple;  its  great  throbs  are  slow  and  solemnly 
measured,  and  yet,  if  once  it  answers  to  a  poet's  touch, 
that  poet's  name  is  made  glorious  forever!" 


"ARDATH" 

He  spoke  with  a  rush  of  earnestness  and  eloquence 
that  was  both  persuasive  and  powerful,  and  he  now  stood 
silent  and  absorbed,  his  dreamy  eyes  resting  meditatively 
on  the  massive  bust  of  the  immortal  personage  he  called 
Hyspiros,  which  smiled  out  in  serene,  cold  whiteness 
from  the  velvet-shadowed  shrine  it  occupied.  Theos 
watched  him  with  fascinated  and  fraternal  fondness. 
Did  ever  man  possess  so  dulcet  a  voice?  he  thought;  so 
grave  and  rich  and  marvelously  musical,  yet  thrilling 
with  such  heart-moving  suggestions  of  mingled  pride 
and  plaintiveness. 

"Thou  art  a  most  alluring  orator,  Sah-luma!"  he  said 
suddenly.  "Methinks  I  could  listen  to  thee  all  day  and 
never  tire!" 

"I*  faith,  so  could  not  I!"  interposed  Zabastes  grimly. 
"For  when  a  bard  begins  to  gabble  goose-like  platitudes 
which  merely  concern  his  own  vocation,  the  gods  only 
know  when  he  can  be  persuaded  to  stop!  Nay,  'tis  more 
irksome  far  than  the  recitation  of  his  professional  jingle, 
for  to  that  there  must  in  time  come  a  merciful  fitting 
end;  but,  as  I  live,  if  'twas  my  custom  to  say  prayers, 
I  would  pray  to  be  delivered  from  the  accursed  volubility 
of  a  versifier's  tongue!  And  perchance  it  will  not  be 
considered  out  of  my  line  of  duty  if  I  venture  to  remind 
my  most  illustrious  and  renowned  muster" — this  with  a 
withering  sneer — "that  if  he  has  any  more  remarkable 
nothings  todictate  concerning  this  particularly  inane  crea- 
tion of  his  fancy,  'Nourhalma,'  'twill  be  well  that  we 
should  proceed  therewith,  for  the  hours  wax  late  and 
the  sun  veereth  toward  his  House  of  Noon." 

And  he  spread  out  fresh  slips  of  papyrus  and  again 
prepared  his  long  quill. 

Sah-luma  smiled,  as  one  who  is  tolerant  of  the  whims 
of  a  hired  buffoon,  and  this  time  seating  himself  in  his 
ebony  chair,  was  about  to  commence  dictating  his  second 
canto,  when  Theos,  yielding  to  his  desire  to  speak  aloud 
the  idea  that  had  just  flashed  across  his  brain,  said  ab- 
ruptly: 

"Has  it  ever  seemed  to  thee,  Sah-luma,  as  it  now  does 
to  me,  that  there  is  a  strange  rese  rtblance  between  thy 
imaginative  description  of  the  ideal  'Nourhalma'  and  the 
actual  charms  and  virtues  of  thy  strayed  singing  maid 
Niphrata?" 


"NOURHALMA"  305 

Sah-luma  looked  up,  thoroughly  astonished,  and 
laughed. 

"No  !  Verily,  I  have  not  traced,  nor  can  I  trace  the 
smallest  vestige  of  a  similarity!  Why,  good  Theos,  there 
is  none — not  the  least  in  the  world— <•  for  this  heroine  of 
mine,  Nourhalma  loves  in  vain  and  sacrifices  all,  even 
her  innocent  and  radiant  life,  for  love,  as  thou  wilt  hear 
in  the  second  half  of  the  poem;  moreover,  she  loves  one 
who  is  utterly  unworthy  of  her  faithful  tenderness.  Now, 
Niphrata  is  a  child  of  delicate  caprice;  she  loves  me — 
me,  her  lord — and  methinks  I  am  not  negligent  or  un- 
deserving of  her  devotion!  Again,  she  has  no  strength 
of  spirit;  her  timorous  blood  would  freeze  at  the  mere 
thought  of  death;  she  is  more  prone  to  play  with  flowers 
and  sing  for  pure  delight  of  heart  than  perish  for  the  sake 
of  love!  'Tis  an  unequal  simile,  my  friend!  As  well 
compare  a  fiery  planet  with  a  twinkling  dew  drop  as 
draw  a  parallel  between  the  heroic,  ideal  maid  Nourhalma 
and  my  fluttering  singing  bird  Niphrata!"  v 

Theos  sighed  involuntarily,  but,  forcing  a  smile,  let 
the  subject  drop  and  held  his  peace,  while  Sah-luma, 
taking  up  the  thread  of  his  poetical  narrative,  went  on 
reciting.  When  the  story  began  to  ripen  toward  its  con- 
clusion, he  grew  more  animated.  Rising,  he  paced  the 
room  as  he  declaimed  the  splendid  lines  that  now  rolled 
gloriously  one  upon  another  like  deep-mouthed  billows 
thundering  on  the  shore;  his  gestures  were  all  indicative 
of  the  fervor  of  his  inward  ecstasy;  his  eyes  flashed;  his 
features  glowed  with  that  serene,  proud  light  of  con- 
scious power  and  triumph  that  rests  on  the  calm,  wide 
brows  of  the  sculptured  Apollo  ;  and  Theos,  leaning  on 
one  arm  in  a  half  sitting  posture,  contemplated  him  with 
a  curious  sensation  of  wistful  eagerness  and  passionate 
pain,  such  as  might  be  felt  by  some  forgotten  artist,mys- 
teriously  permitted  to  come  out  of  his  grave  and  wander 
back  to  earth,  there  to  see  his  once-rejected  pictures 
hung  in  places  of  honor  among  the  world's  chief  treas- 
ures. 

A  strange  throb  of  melancholy  satisfaction  stirred  his 
pulses  as  he  reflected  that  he  might  now,  without  any 
self  conceit,  at  least  admire  the  poem.  Since  he  had 
decided  that  it  was  no  longer  his,  but  another's,  he  was 
free  to  bestow  on  it  as  much  as  he  would  of  unstinting 


306  "ARDATH" 

praise!  For  it  was  very  fine;  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  that,  whatever  Zabastes  might  say  to  the  contrary, 
and  it  was  not  only  fine,  but  intensely,  humanly  pathetic, 
seeming  to  strike  a  chord  of  passion  such  as  had  never 
before  been  sounded — a  chord  to  which  the  world  would 
be  compelled  to  listen;  yes,  compelled,  thought  Theos 
exultingly,  as  Sah-luma  drew  nearer  and  nearer  the  close 
of  his  dictation.  The  deep  quiet  all  around  was  so  heavy 
as  to  be  almost  uncomfortable  in  its  oppressiveness;  it 
exercised  a  sort  of  strain  upon  the  nerves — 

Hark!  what  was  that?  Through  the  hot  and  silent  air 
swept  a  sullen,  surging  noise  as  of  the  angry  shouting  of 
a  vast  multitude;  then  came  the  fast  and  furious  gallop 
of  many  horses,  and  again  that  fierce,  resentful  roar  of 
indignation,  swelling  up  as  it  seemed  from  thousands  of 
throats.  Moved  all  three  at  once  by  the  same  instinctive 
desire  to  know  what  was  going  on,  Theos,  Sah-luma,  and 
Zabastes  sprang  from  their  different  places  in  the  room 
and  hurried  out  on  the  marble  terrace,  dashing  aside  the 
silken  awnings  as  they  went,  in  order  the  better  to  see 
the  open  glimpses  of  the  city  thoroughfares  that  lay  be- 
low. Theos,  leaning  far  out  over  the  western  half  of  the 
balustrade,  was  able  to  command  a  distant  view  of  the 
great  square  in  which  the  huge  white  granite  obelisk 
occupied  so  prominent  a  position,  and  fixing  his  eyes 
attentively  on  this  spot,  saw  that  it  was  filled  to  over- 
flowing with  a  dense  mass  of  people,  whose  white-rat- 
mented  forms,  pressed  together  in  countless  numbers, 
swayed  restlessly  to  and  fro  like  the  rising  waves  of  a 
stormy  sea. 

Lifted  above  this  troubled  throng,  one  tall,  dark  figure 
was  distinctly  outlined  against  the  dazzling  face  of  the 
obelisk — a  figure  that  appeared  to  be  standing  on  the  back 
of  the  colossal  lion  that  lay  couchant  beneath.  And  as 
Theos  strained  his  sight  to  distinguish  the  details  of  the 
scene  more  accurately,  he  suddenly  beheld  a  glittering 
regiment  of  mounted  men  in  armor,  charging  straightly 
and  with  cruelly  determined  speed  right  into  the  centev 
of  the  crowd,  apparently  regardless  of  all  havoc  to  life 
and  limb  that  might  ensue.  Involuntarily  he  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  horror  at  what  seemed  to  him  so  wanton 
and  brutal  an  act,  when  just  then  Sah-luma  caught  him 
eagerly  by  the  arm — Sah-luma,  whose  soft  oval  counte^ 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  OBELISK  307 

nance  was  brilliant  with  excitement,  and  in  whose  eyes 
gleamed  a  mingled  expression  of  mirth  and  ferocity. 

"Come,  come,  my  friend!"  he  said  hastily.  "Yonder 
is  a  sight  worth  seeing!  'Tis  the  mad  Khosrul  who  is 
thus  entrenched  and  fortified  by  the  mob;  as  I  live, 
that  sweeping  gallop  of  His  Majesty's  Royal  Guards  is 
magnificent!  They  will  seize  the  prophet  this  time  with- 
out fail — ay,  if  they  slay  a  thousand  of  the  populace  in 
the  performance  of  their  duty!  Come,  let  us  hasten  to 
the  scene  of  action — 'twill  be  a  struggle  I  would  not 
miss  for  all  the  world!" 

He  sprang  down  the  steps  of  the  loggia,  accompanied 
by  Theos,  who  was  equally  excited,  when  all  at  once 
Zabastes,  thrusting  out  his  head  through  a  screen  of  vine 
leaves,  cried  after  them: 

"Sah-luma!  Most  illustrious!  What  of  the  poem? 
It  is  not  finished!" 

"No  matter,"  returned  Sah-luma.  "'Twill  be  finished 
hereafter!" 

And  he  hastened  on,  Theos  treading  close  in  his  foot- 
steps, and  thinking  as  he  went  of  the  new  enigma  thus 
proposed  to  puzzle  afresh  the  weary  workings  of  his 
mind.  His  poem  of  "Nourhalma,"  or  rather  the  poem 
he  had  fancied  was  his,  had  been  entirely  completed 
down  to  the  last  line;  now  Sah-luma's  was  left  "to  be 
finished  hereafter. " 

Strange  that  he  should  find  a  pale  glimmering  of  con- 
solation in  this — a  feeble  hope  that  perhaps,  after  all, 
at  some  future  time  he  might  be  able  to  produce  a  few, 
a  very  few  lines  of  noble  verse  that  should  be  deemed 
purely  original — enough,  perchance,  to  endow  him  with  a 
faint,  far  halo  of  diminished  glory  such  as  plodding  stu- 
dents occasionally  win  by  following  humbly  yet  ardently, 
even  as  he  now  followed  Sah-luma,  in  the  paths  of  ex- 
cellence marked  out  by  greater  men! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  FALL  OF  THE   OBELISK. 


IN  less  time  than  he    could    have    imagined    possible, 
V><?  found  himself  in  the  densely  crowded    square,  buffet- 


308  "ARDATH" 

ing  and  struggling  against  an  angry  and  rebellious  mob, 
who,  half-terrified,  had  evidently  set  themselves  to  re- 
sist the  determined  charge  made  by  the  mounted  soldiery 
into  their  midst.  For  once  Sah  luma's  appearance  created 
no  diversion;  he  was  pushed  and  knocked  about  as  un- 
ceremoniously as  if  he  were  the  commonest  citizen  of 
them  all.  He  seemed  carelessly  surprised  at  this,  but 
7ievertheless  took  his  hustling  very  good-humoredly,  and 
keeping  his  shoulders  well  squared,  forced  his  way  with 
Theos  by  slow  degrees  through  the  serried  ranks  of  peo- 
ple, many  of  whom,  roused  to  a  sort  of  frenzy,  threw 
themselves  in  front  of  the  advancing  horses  of  the  guard, 
and  seizing  the  reins,  held  on  to  these  like  grim  death, 
reckless  of  all  danger. 

As  yet  no  weapons  were  used  either  by  the  soldiers  or 
the  populace ;  the  former  seemed  for  the  present  contented 
to  simply  ride  down  those  who  impeded  their  progress, 
and  that  they  had  done  so  in  terrible  earnest  was  plainly 
evident  from  the  numbers  of  wounded  creatures  that  lay 
scattered  about  on  every  side  in  an  apparently  half-dy- 
ing condition.  Yet  there  was  surely  a  strange  insensibil- 
ity among  them  all,  inasmuch  as,  in  spite  of  th^  conten- 
tion and  confusion,  there  were  no  violent  shrieks  of  either 
pain  or  fury,  no  exclamations  of  rage  or  despair,  no 
sound  whatever,  indeed,  save  a  steady.sullen,  monotonous 
snarl  of  opposition,  above  which  the  resonant  voice  of 
the  prophet  Kliosrul  rang  out  like  a  silver  clarion. 

"O  people  doomed  and  made  desolate!"  he  cried.  "O 
nation  once  mighty,  brought  low  to  the  dust  of  destruc- 
tion! Hear  me,  ye  strong  men  and  fair  women,  and 
you,  ye  poor  little  children  who  never  again  shall  see  the 
sun  rise  on  the  thousand  domes  of  Al-Kyris!  Lift  up 
the  burden  of  bitter  lamentation!  lift  it  up  to  the  heaven 
of  heavens,  the  throne  of  the  All-Seeing  Glory,  the 
Giver  of  Law,  the  Destroyer  of  Evil!  Weep — weep  for 
your  sins  and  the  sins  of  your  sons  and  your  daughters; 
cast  off  the  jewels  of  pride;  rend  the  fine  raiment;  let 
your  tears  be  abundant  as  the  rain  and  dew!  Kneel 
down  and  cry  aloud  on  the  great  and  terrible  unknown 
God — the  God  ye  have  denied  and  wronged,  the  Founder 
of  worlds,  who  doth  hold  in  his  hand  the  sun  as  a  torch 
and  scattered!  stars  with  the  fire  of  his  breath!  Miurn 
and  bend  ye  all  beneath  the  iron  strok*  of  destiny;  for 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  OBELISK  $09 

know  ye  oot  how  fierce  a  thing  is  come  upon  Al  Kyris — 
a  thing  that  lips  cannot  utter  nor  words  define,  a  thing 
more  horrible  than  strange  sounds  in  thick  darkness, 
move  deadly  than  the  lightning  when  it  leaps  from 
heaven  with  intent  to  slay?  O  city  stately  beyond  all 
cities!  Thy  marble  palaces  are  already  ringed  round 
with  a  river  of  blood!  The  temples  of  thy  knowledge, 
wherein  thy  wise  men  have  studied  to  exceed  all  wis- 
dom, begin  to  totter  to  their  fall!  Thou  shalt  be  swept 
away  even  as  a  light  heap  of  ashes,  and  what  shall  all 
thy  learning  avail  thee  in  that  brief  and  fearful  end? 
Hear  me,  O  people  of  Al- Kyris!  Hear  me  and  cease  to 
strive  among  yourselves;  resist  not  thus  desperately  the 
king's  armed  minions,  for  to  them  I  also  speak  and  say, 
Lo!  the  time  approaches  when  a  stronger  hand  than  that 
of  the  mighty  Zephoranim  shall  take  me  prisoner  and 
bear  me  hence  where  most  I  long  to  go!  Peace,  I  com- 
mand you;  in  the  name  of  that  God  whose  truth  I  do 
proclaim,  peace!" 

As  he  uttered  the  last  word  an  instantaneous  hush  fell 
upon  the  crowd;  every  head  was  turned  toward  his  grand, 
gaunt,  almost  spectral  figure;  and  even  the  mounted  sol- 
diery reined  up  their  plunging,  chafing  steeds  and  re- 
mained motionless,  as  though  suddenly  fixed  to  the  ground 
•y  some  powerful  magnetic  spell.  Theos  and  Sah-luma 
took  immediate  advantage  of  this  lull  in  the  conflict  to 
try  and  secure  for  themselves  a  better  point  of  vantage, 
though  there  was  much  difficulty  in  pressing  through  the 
closely  packed  throng,  inasmuch  as  not  a  man  moved  to 
give  them  passage-room. 

Presently,  however,  Sah-luma  managed  to  reach  the 
nearest  one  of  the  two  great  fountains  which  adorned 
either  side  of  the  obelisk,  and  springing  as  lightly  as  a 
bird  on  its  marble  edge,  he  stood  erect  there,  his  pictur- 
esque form  presenting  itself  to  the  view  like  a  fine  statue 
set  against  the  background  of  sun-tinted,  foaming  water 
that  dashed  high  above  him  and  sprinkled  his  garments 
with  drops  of  sparkling  spray.  Theos  at  once  joined 
him,  and  the  two  friends,  holding  each  other  by  the  arm, 
gazed  down  on  the  silent,  mighty  multitude  around 
them — a  huge  concourse  of  the  citizens  of  Al  Kyris, who, 
strange  as  this  part  of  their  behavior  seemed,  still  paid 
no  heed  to  the  presence  of  their  laureate,  but  with  pale, 


3 1C  "ARDATH1"' 

rapt  faces  and  anxious,  frightened  eyes  riveted  their  at- 
tention entirely  on  the  somber,black  garmented  prophet, 
whose  thin,  ghostly  arms,  outstretched  above  them,  ap- 
peared to  mutely  invoke  in  their  behalf  some  special 
miracle  of  mercy. 

"See  you  not,"  whispered  Sah-luma  to  his  companion, 
"how  yon  aged  fool  wears  upon  his  breast  the  symbol 
of  his  own  prophecy?  'Tis  the  maddest  freak  to  thus 
display  his  death-warrant!  Only  a  month  ago  the  king 
issued  a  decree  warning  all  those  whom  it  might  con- 
cern, that  any  one  of  his  born  subjects  presuming  to  car- 
ry the  sign  of  Khosrul's  newly  invented  faith  should  surely 
die!  And  that  the  crazed  reprobate  carries  it  himself 
makes  no  exemption  from  the  rule!" 

Theos  shuddered.  His  eyes  were  misty,  but  he  could 
very  well  see  the  emblem  to  which  Sah-luma  alluded. 
It  was  the  cross  again,  the  same  sacred  prefigurement 
of  things  "to  come,"  according  to  the  perplexing  expla- 
nation given  by  the  mystic  Zuriel  whom  he  had  met  in 
the  Passage  of  the  Tombs,  though  to  his  own  mind  it 
conveyed  no  such  meaning.  What  was  it,  then?  If 
not  a  prototype  of  the  future,  was  it  a  record  of  the 
past?  He  dared  not  pursue  this  question — it  seemed  to 
send  his  brain  reeling  on  the  verge  of  madness!  He  made 
no  answer  to  Sah-luma's  remark,  but  fixed  his  gaze 
wistfully  on  the  tall,  melancholy  shape  that  like  a  black 
shadow  darkened  the  whiteness  of  the  obelisk,  and  his 
sense  of  hearing  became  acute  almost  to  painfulness 
when  once  more  Khosrul's  deep,  vibrating  tones  pealed 
solemnly  through  the  heavy  air. 

"God  speaks  to  Al-Kyris!"  And  as  the  prophet  en- 
unciated these  words  with  majestic  emphasis,  a  visible 
thrill  ran  through  the  hushed  assemblage.  "God  saith: 
'Get  thee  up,  O  thou  city  of  pleasure,  from  th)'  couch 
of  sweet  wantonness;  get  thee  up,  gird  thee  with  fire, 
and  flee  into  the  desert  of  forgotten  things!  For  thou 
art  become  a  blot  on  the  fairness  of  my  world  and  a 
shame  to  the  brightness  of  my  heaven!  Thy  rulers  are 
corrupt ;  thy  teachers  are  proud  of  heart  and  narrow  of 
judgment;  thy  young  men  and  maidens  go  astray  and 
follow  each  after  their  own  vain  opinions;  in  thy  great 
temples  and  holy  places  falsehood  abides,  and  vice  holds 
tourt  in  thy  glorious  palaces.  Wherefore,  because  thou 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  OBELISK  31 1 

hast  neither  sought  nor  served  me,  and  because  thou  hast 
set  up  gold  as  thy  god  and  a  multitude  of  riches  as  thy 
chief  good,  lo!  now  mine  eyes  have  grown  weary  of  be- 
holding thee,  and  I  will  descend  upon  thee  suddenly  and 
destroy  thee,  even  as  a  hill  of  sand  is  destroyed  by  the 
whirlwind,  and  thou  shalt  be  known  in  the  land  of  my 
creatures  nc  more!  Wee  to  thee  that  thou  hast  taken 
pride  in  thy  wisdom  and  learning,  for  therein  lies  thy 
much  wickedness!  If  thou  wert  truly  wise  thou  wouldst 
have  found  me;  if  thou  wert  nobly  learned  thou  wouldst 
have  understood  my  laws;  but  thou  art  proved  altogether 
gross,  foolish,  and  incapable,  and  the  studies  whereof 
thou  hast  boasted,  the  writings  of  thy  wise  men,  the 
charts  of  sea  and  land,  the  maps  of  thy  chief  astronomers, 
the  engraved  tablets  of  learning  in  gold, in  silver, in  ivory, 
in  stone, thy  chronicles  of  battle  and  conquest,the  docu- 
ments of  thine  explorers  in  far  countries,  the  engines  of 
thine  invention  whereby  thou  dost  press  the  lightning 
into  thy  service  and  make  the  air  respond  to  the  mes- 
sages of  thy  kings  and  councilors — all  these  shall  be 
thrust  away  into  an  everlasting  silence  and  no  man  here- 
after shall  be  able  to  declare  that  such  things  have  ever 
been!" 

Here  the  speaker  paused;  and  Thos,  surveying  the 
vast  listening  crowds,  fancied  they  looked  like  an  audi- 
^nce  of  moveless  ghosts  rather  than  human  beings,  so 
still,  so  pallid,  so  grave  were  they,  one  and  all.  Khosrul 
continued  in  softer,  more  melancholy  accents,  that,  while 
plaintive  were  still  singularly  impressive. 

"O  my  ill-fated,  my  beloved  fellow-countrymen!"  he 
exclaimed,  extending  his  arms  with  a  vehemently  plead- 
ing gesture,  as  though  in  the  excess  of  emotion  he  would 
have  drawn  all  the  people  to  his  heart.  "Ye  unhappy 
ones,  have  I  not  given  ye  warning?  Have  I  not  bidden 
ye  beware  of  this  great  evil  which  should  come  to  pass? — 
evil  for  which  there  is  no  remedy,  none,  neither  in  the 
earth,  nor  the  sea,  nor  the  invisible  comforts  of  the  air! 
For  God  hath  spoken,  and  who  shall  contradict  the 
thunder  of  his  voice?  Behold,  the  end  is  at  hand  of  all 
the  pleasant  things  of  Al-Kyris — the  feasting  and  the 
musical  assemblies, the  cymbal  symphonies  and  the  choir 
dances,  the  labors  of  students  and  the  triumphs  of  sages — 
all  these  shall  seem  but  the  mockery  of  madness  in  the 


312  "ARDATH" 

swift  descending  night  of  overwhelming  destruction! 
Woe  is  me  that  ye  would  not  listen  when  I  called,  but 
turned  every  man  to  his  own  devices  and  the  following 
after  idols!  Nay,  now,  what  will  ye  do  in  extremity? 
Will  ye  chant  hymns  to  the  sun?  Lo  !  he  is  deaf  and 
blind,  for  all  his  golden  glory,  and  is  but  a  taper  set  in 
the  window  of  the  sky,  to  be  extinguished  at  God's  good 
pleasure!  Will  ye  supplicate  Nagaya?  O  fools  and  des- 
perate! how  shall  a  brute  beast  answer  prayer?  Vain, 
vain  is  all  beseeching;  shut  forever  are  the  doors  of 
escape;  therefore  cover  yourselves  with  the  garments  of 
burial;  prepare  each  one  his  grave  and  rich  funeral 
things;  gather  together  the  rosemary  and  myrrh,  the 
precious  ointments  and  essences,  the  strings  of  gold  and 
the  jeweled  talismans  whereby  ye  think  to  fight  against 
corruption,  and  fall  down,  every  man  in  his  own  wrought 
hollow  in  the  ground,  face  turned  to  earth,  and  die;  for 
death  hath  broken  through  the  strong  gates  of  Al-Kyris 
and  hath  taken  the  city  magnificent  captive  unknowingly! 
Alas!  alas!  that  ye  would  not  follow  whither  I  led,  that 
ye  would  not  harken  to  the  vision  of  the  future,  dimly 
yet  gloriously  revealed!  The  future!  the  future!" 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  and  raising  his  eyes  to  the  deep 
blue  sky  above  him,  seemed  for  a  moment  as  though 
he  were  caught  up  in  the  clouds  of  some  wondrous  dream. 
Stili  the  enormous  throng  of  people  stood  hushed  and 
motionless.  Not  a  word,  not  a  sound  escaped  them; 
there  was  something  positively  appalling  in  such  abso- 
lute immobility — at  least  it  appeared  so  to  Theos,  who 
could  not  understand  this  dispassionate  behavior  on  the 
part  of  so  large  and  lately-excited  a  multitude.  All  at 
once  a  voice  marvelously  tender,  clear,  and  pathetic 
trembled  on  the  silence.  Was  it,  could  it  be  the  voice 
of  Khosrul ?  Yes!  but  so  changed,  so  solemn>  so  infinitely 
sweet  that  it  might  have  been  some  gentle  angel  speak- 
ing: 

"Like  a  fountain  of  sweet  water  in  the  desert  or  the 
rising  of  the  moon  in  a  gloomy  midnight,"  he  said  slowly, 
"even  so  is  the  hope  and  promise  of  the  Supremely  Be- 
loved! Through  the  veiling  darkness  of  the  coming  ages 
his  light  already  shines  upon  my  soul!  O  blessed  ad- 
vent! O  happy  future!  O  days  when  privileged  humanity 
shall  bridge  by  love  the  gulf  between  this  world  and 


THE   KALI.  OF  THE   OBELISK  313 

heaven  !  What  shall  be  said  of  Him  who  cometh  to  re- 
deem us,  O  my  foreseeing  spirit?  What  shall  be  told 
concerning  his  most  marvelous  beauty?  Even  as  a  dove 
that  for  pity  of  its  helpless  younglings  doth  battle  soft- 
breasted  with  a  storm,  even  so  shall  he  descend  from  out 
his  glory  sempiternal  arid  teach  us  how  to  conquer  sin 
and  death — ay,  even  with  the  meekness  of  a  little  child 
he  shall  approach  and  choose  his  dwelling  here  among 
us!  O  Heavenly  Child!  O  Wisdom  of  God  contained 
in  innocence  !  happy  the  learning  that  shall  learn  from 
thee!  noble  the  pride  that  shall  humble  itself  before  thy 
gentleness!*  O  Prince  of  manhood  and  divinity  entwined  ! 
Thou  shalt  acquaint  thyself  with  human  griefs  and  pa- 
tiently unravel  the  perplexities  of  human  longings!  To 
prove  thy  sacred  sympathy  with  suffering,  thou  shalt  be 
content  to  suffer;  to  explain  the  mystery  of  death,  thou 
shalt  even  be  content  to  die!  O  people  of  Al-Kyris,  hear 
ye  all  the  words  that  tell  of  this  wonderful,  inestimable 
King  of  Peace.  Mine  aged  eyes  do  see  him  now,  far, 
far  off  in  the  rising  mist  of  unformed  future  things!  The 
cross — the  cross,  on  which  his  man's  pure  life  dissolves 
itself  in  glory,  stretches  above  me  in  spreading  beams 
of  light!  Ah!  'tis  a  glittering  pathway  in  the  skies, 
whereon  men  and  the  angels  meet  and  know  each  other! 
He  is  the  strong  and  perfect  Spirit  that  shalt  break  loose 
from  death  and  declare  the  insignificance  of  the  grave. 
He  is  the  lingering  Star  in  the  East  that  shall  rise  and 
lighten  all  spiritual  darkness — the  unknown,  unnamed 
Redeemer  of  the  world,  the  Man-God  Savior  that  shall 
come!" 

"Shall  come?"  cried  Theos  suddenly  roused  to  the 
uttermost  pitch  of  frenzied  excitement,  and  pronouncing 
each  word  with  loud  and  involuntary  vehemence.  "Nay! 

*Theidea  of  a  Savior  who  should  be  born  as  man  to  redeem  the  world 
was  prevalent  among  all  nations,  and  dates  from  the  remotest  ages. 
Coming  down  to  what  must  be  termed  quite  a  modern  period  compared 
to  that  in  which  the  city  of  Al-Kyris  had  its  existence,  we  find  that  the 
Romans  under  Octavius  Caesar  were  wont  to  exclaim  at  their  sacred 
meetings,  "The  times  foretold  bv  the  Sybil  axe.  arrived;  may  a  new  age 
soon  restore  that  Saturn!  Soon  may  the  child  be  born  who  shall  banish 
the  age  of  iron!"  Tacitus  and  Suetonius  both  mention  the  prophecies  "in 
the  sacred  books  of  the  priests"  which  declare  that  the  "east  shall  be  in 
commotion."  and  that  "men  from  Judea"  shall  subject  "everything  to 
their  dominion." 


214  "ARDATH" 

for  he  has  come  !     He  died  for  us  and  rose  again  from  the 
dead  more  than  eighteen  hundred  years  ago!" 


A  frightful  silence  followed — a  breahtless  cessation  of 
even  tiie  faintest  quiver  of  sound.  The  mighty  mass  of 
people,  apparently  moved  by  one  accord,  turned  with 
swift, stealthy  noiselessness  toward  the  audacious  speaker; 
thousands  of  glittering  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  in  sol- 
emnly inquiring  wonderment,  while  he  himself,  now  al 
together  dismayed  at  the  effect  of  his  own  rash  utterance, 
thought  he  had  never  experienced  a  more  awful  moment! 
For  it  was  as  though  all  the  skeletons  he  had  lately  seen 
in  the  Passage  of  the  Tombs  had  suddenly  clothed  them- 
selves with  spectral  flesh  and  hair  and  the  shadowy  gar- 
ments of  men,  and  had  advanced  into  the  broad  daylight 
to  surround  him  in  their  terrible  lifeless  ranks  and 
wrench  from  him  the  secret  of  an  after  existence  concern- 
ing which  they  were  ignorant ! 

How  ghostly  and  drear  seemed  that  dense  crowd  in 
this  new  light  of  his  delirious  fancy!  A  clammy  dew 
broke  out  on  his  forehead  ;  he  saw  the  blue  skies,  the 
huge  buildings  in  the  square,  the  obelisk,  the  fountains, 
the  trees,  all  whirling  round  him  in  a  wild  dance  of  the 
dizziest  distraction,  when  Sah-luma's  rich  voice  close  to 
his  ear  recalled  his  wandering  senses. 

"Why,  man,  art  thou  drunk  or  mad?"  And  the  laure- 
ate's face  expressed  a  kind  of  sarcastic  astonishment. 
"What  a  fool  thou  hast  made  of  thyself,  good  comrade! 
By  my  soul!  how  shall  thy  condition  be  explained  to 
these  open-mouthed  starers  below?  See  how  they  gape 
upon  thee;  thou  art  most  assuredly  a  noticeable  spectacle  ! 
An  yon  maniac  prophet  doth  evidently  judge  thee  as  one 
of  his  craft,  a  fellow-professional  howler  of  marvels,  else 
he  would  scarcely  deign  to  fix  his  eyes  so  obstinately  on 
thy  countenance!  Nay,  verily  thou  dost  outrival  him 
in  the  strangeness  of  thy  language!  What  moved  thee  to 
such  frenzied  utterance?  Surely  thou  hast  a  stroke  of 
the  sun!  Thy  words  were  most  absolutely  devoid  of 
reason — as  senseless  as  the  jabber  of  an  idiot  to  his  own 
shadow  on  the  wall!" 

Theos  was  mute;  he  had  no  defense  to  offer.  The 
crowd  still  stared  upon  him,  and  his  heart  beat  fast  with 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  OBELISK  315 

a  mingled  sense  of  fear  and  pride — fear  of  his  present 
surroundings,  pride  that  he  had  spoken  out  his  convic- 
tion boldly,  reckless  of  all  consequences.  And  this  pride 
was  a  most  curious  thing  to  analyze,  because  it  did  not 
so  much  consist  in  the  fact  of  his  having  openly  con- 
fessed his  inward  thought  as  that  he  felt  he  had  gained 
some  special  victory  in  thus  acknowledging  his  belief  in 
the  positive  existence  of  Hie  "Savior"  who  formed  the 
subject  of  Khosrul's  prophecy.  Full  of  a  singular  sort  of 
self-congratulation  which  yet  had  nothing  to  do  with 
selfishness,  he  became  so  absorbed  in  his  own  reflections 
that  he  started  like  a  man  brusquely  aroused  from  sleep 
when  the  prophet's  strong,  grave  voice  apostrophized  him 
personally  over  the  heads  of  the  throng: 

"Who  and  what  art  thou  that  dost  speak  of  the  FUTURE 
as  though  it  were  the  PAST?  Hast  thou  held  converse 
with  the  angels,  and  is  past  and  future  one  with  thee  in 
the  dream  of  the  departing  present?  Answer  me,  thou 
stranger  to  the  city  of  Al-Kyris!  Has  God  taught  thee 
the  way  to  everlasting  life?" 

Again  that  awful  silence  made  itself  felt  like  a  deadly 
chill  on  the  sunlit  air.  The  quiet,  patient  crowds  seemed 
waiting  in  hushed  suspense  for  some  reply  which  should 
be  as  a  flash  of  spiritual  enlightenment  to  leap  from  one 
to  the  other  with  kindling  heat  and  radiance  and  vivify 
them  all  into  a  new  and  happier  existence.  But  now 
when  Theos  most  strongly  desired  to  speak,  he  remained 
dumb  as  stone!  Vainly  he  struggled  against  and  con- 
tended with  the  invisible,  mysterious,  and  relentless  des- 
potism that  smote  him  on  the  mouth,  as  it  were,  and 
deprived  him  of  all  power  of  utterance;  his  tongue  was 
stiff  and  frozen;  his  very  lips  were  sealed!  Trembling 
violently,  he  gazed  beseechingly  at  Sah-luma,  who  held 
his  arm  in  a  firm  and  friendly  grasp,  and  who,  apparently 
quickly  perceiving  that  he  was  distressed  and  embar- 
rassed, undertook  himself  to  furnreh  forth  what  he 
evidently  considered  a  fitting  response  to  Khosrul's 
adjuration. 

"Most  venerable  seer!"  he  cried  mockingly,  his  bright 
face  radiant  with  mirth  and  his  dark  eyes  flashing  a  care- 
less contempt  as  he  spoke,  "thou  art  as  short-sighted  as 
thine  own  auguries  if  thou  canst  not  at  once  comprehend 
the  drift  of  my  friend's  humor!  He  hath  caught  the 


316  "ARDATH" 

infection  of  thy  fanatic  eloquence,  and,  like  thee,  xnows 
naught  of  what  he  says;  moreover,  he  hath  good  wine 
and  sunlight  mingled  in  his  blood,  whereby  he  lath 
been  doubtless  moved  to  play  a  jest  upon  thee.  ]  pray 
thee  heed  him  not.  He  is  as  tree  to  declare  thy  propnec> 
is  of  the  past  as  thou  art  to  insist  on  its  being  of  the. 
future,  in  both  ways  'tis  a  most  foolish  fallacy!  Never- 
theless, continue  thy  entertaining  discourse,  Sir  Gray- 
beard,  and  if  thou  must  needs  address  thyself  to  any  one 
soul  in  particular,  why,  let  it  be  to  me;  vor  though, 
thanks  to  my  own  excellent  good  sense,  I  'uave  no  faith 
in  angels,  nor  crosses,  nor  everlasting  life,  nor  any  of 
the  strange  riddles  wherewith  thou  seekest  to  perplex  and 
bewilder  the  brains  of  the  ignorant,  still  am  I  laureate  of 
the  realm,  and  ready  to  hold  argument  with  thee,  yea, 
until  such  time  as  these  dumfounded  soldiers  and  citi- 
zens of  Al-Kyris  shall  remembe*  their  duty  sufficiently 
to  seize  and  take  thee  captive  in  the  king's  great 
name!" 

As  he  ceased,  a  deep  sigh  *an,  like  the  first  sound  of 
a  rising  wind  among  trees,  xnrough  the  heretofore  mo- 
tionless multitude,  a  fain,,  dawning,  yet  doubtful  smile 
reflected  itself  on  ther.r  f«ces,  and  the  old  familiar  shout 
broke  feebly  from  their  lips: 

"Hail,  Sah-luma  !  l^t  us  hear  Sah-luma!"  Sah-luma 
looked  down  upon  the  n  all  in  airy  derision. 

"O  fickle,  terror-st,icken  fools!"  he  exclaimed.  "O 
thankless  and  disloyal  people!  What!  ye  will  see  me 
now?  Ye  will  hear  aie?  Ay!  but  who  shall  answer  for 
your  obedience  to  my  words?  Nay,  is  it  possible  that  I, 
your  country's  chosen  chief  minstrel,  should  have  stood 
so  long  among  >e,  disregarded?  How  comes  it  your 
dull  eyes  and  ears  were  fixed  so  fast  upon  yon  dotard 
miscreant  whose  Jays  are  numbered?  Methought  'twas 
but  Sah-luma's  voice  that  could  persuade  ye  to  assemble 
thus  in  such  locust-like  swarms;  since  when  have  the 
poet  and  the  people  of  Al-Kyris  ceased  to  be  as  one?" 

A  vague  muttering  sound  answered  him,  whether  of 
shame  or  dissatisfaction  it  was  difficult  to  tell.  Khosrul's 
vibrating  accents  struck  sharply  across  that  muffled 
murmur. 

"The  poet  and  the  people  of  Al-K)'ris  are  furthe;  asun- 
der than  light  and  darkness  1"  he  cried  vehemently.  "For 


THE   PALL  OF  THE   OBELISK  317 

ihe  poet  has  been  false  to  his  high  vocation,  and  the 
people  trust  in  him  no  more!" 

There  was  an  instant's  hush — a  hush,  as  it  seemed,  ot 
grieved  acquiescence  on  the  part  of  the  populace — and 
during  that  brief  pause  Theos'  heart  gave  a  fierce  bound 
against  his  ribs,  as  though  some  one  had  suddenly  shot 
at  him  with  a  poisoned  arrow.  He  glanced  quickly  at 
Sah-luma;  but  Sah-luma  stood  calmly  unmoved,  his 
handsome  head  thrown  back,  a  cynical  smile  on  his  lips, 
and  his  eyes  darker  than  ever  with  an  intensity  of  unut- 
terable scorn. 

"Sah-luma!  Sah-luma!"  and  the  piercing,  reproachful 
voice  of  the  prophet  penetrated  every  part  of  the  spacious 
square  like  a  sonorous  bell  ringing  over  a  still  landscape. 
"O  divine  spirit  of  song  pent  up  in  gross  clay,  was  ever 
mortal  more  gifted  than  thou!  In  thee  was  kindled  the 
white  fire  of  heaven;  to  thee  were  confided  the  memories 
of  vanished  worlds;  for  thee  God  bade  his  nature  wear 
a  thousand  shapes  of  varied  meaning;  the  sun,  the  moon, 
the  stars  were  appointed  as  thy  servants ;  for  thou  wert 
born  POET,  the  mystically  chosen  teacher  and  consoler  of 
mankind!  What  hast  thou  done,  Sah-luma;  what  ha&t 
thou  done  with  the  treasures  bestowed  upon  thee  by  the 
all-endowing  angels?  How  hast  thou  used  the  talisman 
of  thy  genius?  To  comfort  the  afflicted?  to  dethrone  and 
destroy  the  oppressor?  to  uphold  the  cause  of  justice?  to 
rouse  the  noblest  instincts  of  thy  race?  to  elevate  and 
purify  the  world?  Alas!  alas!  thou  hast  made  thyself  the 
idol  of  thy  muse,  and,  thou  being  but  perishable,  thy 
name  shall  perish  with  thee!  Thou  hast  drowsed  away 
thy  manhood  in  the  lap  of  vice;  thou  hast  slept  and 
dreamed  when  thou  shouldst  have  been  awake  and  vigi- 
lant ;  not  I,  but  thou  shouldst  have  warned  this  people 
of  their  coming  doom!  Not  I,  but  thou  shouldst  have 
marked  the  threatening  signs  of  the  pregnant  hour;  not 
I,  but  thou  shouldst  have  perceived  the  first  faint  glim- 
mer of  God's  future  scheme  of  glad  salvation  ;  not  I,  but 
thou  shouldst  have  taught  and  pleaded,  and  swayed  by 
thy  matchless  scepter  of  sweet  song  the  passions  of  thy 
countrymen!  Hadst  thou  been  true  to  that  first  flame  of 
thought  within  thee,  O  Sah-lnma,  how  thy  glory  would 
have  dwarfed  the  power  of  kings!  Empires  might  have 
fallen,  cities  decayed,  and  nations  been  absorbed  in  ruin, 


3i&  "ARDATH" 

and  yet  thy  clear-convincing  voice,  rendered  imperish- 
able by  its  faithfulness,  should  have  sounded  forth  in 
triumph  above  the  foundering  wrecks  of  Time!  O  poet, 
unworthy  of  thy  calling!  How  thou  hast  wantoned  with 
the  sacred  muse!  How  thou  hast  led  her  stainless  feet 
into  the  mire  of  sensual  hypocrisies  and  decked  he) 
with  the  trumpery  gew-gaws  of  a  meaningless  fuii 
speech!  How  thou  hast  caught  her  by  the  virgina; 
hair  and  made  her  chastity  the  screen  for  all  thine  ow,i 
licentiousness!  Thou  shouldst  have  humbly  sought  h  ;r 
benediction;  thou  shouldst  have  handled  her  with  genile 
reverence  and  patient  ardor;  from  her  wise  lips  th  m 
shouldst  have  learned  how  best  to  practice  those  virti  es 
whose  praise  thou  didet  evasively  proclaim  ;  thou  shoul  Jst 
have  shrined  her,  throned  her,  worshiped  her  and  served 
her,  yea,  even  as  a  sinful  man  may  serve  an  angel  who 
loves  him!" 

Ah,  what  a  strange,  cold  thrill  ran  through  Theos  JLS  he 
heard  these  last  words:  "As  a  sinful  man  may  serve  an 
angel  who  loves  him!"  How  happy  the  man  thus  loved! 
how  fortunate  the  sinner  thus  permitted  to  served  Who 
was  he?  Could  there  be  any  one  so  marvelously  privi- 
leged? He  wondered  dimly,  and  a  dull,  aching  pain 
throbbed  heavily  in  his  brows.  It  was  a  very  singular 
thing,  too,  that  he  should  find  himself  strongly  and  per- 
sonally affected  by  Khosrul's  address  to  Sah-luma;  yet 
such  was  the  case,  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  he  accepted 
all  the  prophet's  reproaches  as  though  they  applied 
solely  to  his  own  past  life!  He  could  not  understand 
his  emotion  ;  nevertheless,  he  kept  on  dreamily  regretting 
that  things  were  as  Khosrul  had  said — that  he  had  not 
fulfilled  his  vocation,  and  that  he  had  neither  been  hum- 
ble enough,  nor  devout  enough,  nor  unselfish  enough  to 
deserve  the  high  and  imperial  name  of  POET. 

Round  and  round  like  a  flying  mote  this  troublesome 
idea  circled  in  his  brain  ;  he  must  do  better  in  the  future, 
he  resolved,  supposing  than  any  future  remained  to  him 
in  which  to  work.  He  must  redeem  the  past!  Here  he 
roused  his  mental  faculties  with  a  start  and  forced  him- 
self to  realize  that  it  was  Sah-luma  to  whom  the  prophet 
spoke — Sah-luma,  only  Sah-luma,  not  himself! 

Then  straightway  he  became  indignant  on  his  friend's 
behalf;  why  should  Sah  luma  be  blamed?  Sah-luma  was 


THE   FALL  OF  THE   OBELISK 

a,  glorious  poet — a  master  singer  of  singers!  His  fame 
must  and  should  endure  forever!  Thus  thinking,  lie 
regained  his  composure  by  degrees  and  strove  to  assume 
the  same  air  of  easy  indifference  as  that  exhibited  by  his 
companion,  when  again  Khosrul's  declamatory  tones 
thundered  forth  with  an  absoluteness  of  emphasis  that 
was  both  startling  and  convincing: 

"Hear  me,  Sah-luma,  chief  minstrel  of  Al-Kyris!    Hear 
me,  thou  who  hast  willfully  wasted  the  golden  moments 
of   never-returning  time!      Thou  art  marked  out  for  death 
— death  sudden  and  fierce  as  the  leap  of  the  desert  panther 
on  its  prey !  death  that  shall  come  to  thee    through    the 
traitorous  speech  of  the    evil    woman  whose    beauty  has 
sapped  thy  strength  and    rendered    thy  glory  inglorious! 
death  that  for    thee,  alas!  shall    be    mournful  and    utter 
oblivion!     Naught  shall  it  avail  thee    that     thy  musical 
weaving  of  words  hath  been    graven    seven    times    over 
on  tablets  of    stone    and    agate    and    ivory,  of    gold  and 
white  silex  and  porphyry  and  the    unbreakable  rose-ada- 
mant— none  of  these  shall    suffice  to  keep    thy    name  in 
remembrance ;  for  what  cannot  be  broken  shall  be  melted 
with  flame,  and  what    cannot  be    erased    shall    be  buried 
miles  deep  in  the  bosom  of  earth,  whence  it  never  again 
shall  be  lifted  into  the  light  of  day!  Aye,  thou  shalt  be 
forgotten — forgotten  as   though   thou    hadst     never    sung. 
Other  poets  shall  chant  in    the  world,  yet    maybe    none 
so  well  as  thou;    other  laurel  and    myrtle    wreaths  shall 
be  given  by  countries  and  kings    to  bards    unworthy,  of 
whom  none,   perchance,  shall  have  thy    sweetness!     But 
thou — thou,  the  most    grandly    gifted,     gift-squandering 
poet  the  world  has  ever  known,  shall  be  cast  among  the 
dust  of  unremembered  nothings,  and    the  name    of  Sah- 
luma  shall    carry  no    meaning    to    any  man    born  in  the 
-coming  hereafter!     For  thou  hast    cherished  within  thy- 
self the  poison  that  withers  thee — the    deadly  poison    of 
doubt,  the  denial  of  God's  existence,  the  accursed  blank- 
ness  of  disbelief  in  the  things  of    life    eternal!     Where- 
fore thy  spirit  is  that  of   one  lost   and    rebellious,  whose 
best  works  are  futile,  whose  days  are   void   of  example, 
and  whose  carelessly  grasped  torch  of  song  shall  be  sud- 
denly snatched  from  thy  hand  and  extinguished  in  dark- 
ness !  God  pardon  thee,  dying  poet !     God  give  thy  part- 
ing soul  a  chance  of  penance  and    of  sweet    redemption) 


320  "ARDATH" 

God  comfort  thee  in  that  drear  land  of  shadow  whithei 
thou  art  bound!  God  bring  thee  forth  again  from  chaoa 
to  a  nobler  future!  Sin-burdened  as  thou  art,  my  bless- 
ing follows  thee  in  thy  last  agony!  Sah-luma, /«/^r.« 
angel,  self-exiled  from  thy  peers,  farewell!" 

The  effect  of  these  strange  words  was  so  extraordina- 
rily impressive  that  for  one  instant  the  astonished  and 
evidently  affrighted  crowds  pressed  round  Sah-luma  ea- 
gerly, staring  at  him  in  morbid  fear  and  wonder,  as 
though  they  expected  him  to  drop  dead  before  them  in 
immediate  fulfillment  of  the  prophet's  solemn  valedic- 
tion. Theos,  oppressed  by  an  inward,  sickening  sense  of 
terror,  also  regarded  him  with  close  and  anxious  solici- 
tude, but  was  almost  reassured  at  the  first  glance. 

Never  was  a  greater  opposition  offered  to  Khosrul's 
gloomy  prognostications  than  that  contained  in  the  hand- 
some laureate's  aspect  at  that  moment.  His  supple, 
graceful  figure,  alert  with  life,  his  glowing  face,  flushed 
by  the  sun  and  touched  with  that  faintly  amused  look  of 
serene  scorn,  his  glorious  eyes  brilliant  as  jewels  under 
their  drooping,  amorous  lids,  and  the  regal  poise  of  his 
splendid  shoulders  and  throat  as  he  lifted  his  head  a 
little  more  haughtily  than  usual  and  glanced  indifferently 
down  from  his  foothold  on  the  edge  of  the  fountain  at  the 
upturned,  questioning  faces  of  the  throng — all,  even  to 
the  careless  balance  and  ease  of  his  attitude,  betokened 
his  perfect  condition  of  health  and  the  entire  satisfaction 
he  had  in  the  consciousness  of  his  own  strength  and 
beauty. 

He  seemed  about  to  speak,  and  raised  his  hand  with 
the  graceful  yet  commanding  gesture  of  one  accustomed  to 
the  art  of  elegant  rhetoric,  when  suddenly  his  expression 
changed.  Shrugging  his  shoulders  slightly  as  who  should 
say,  "Here  comes  the  conclusion  of  the  matter — no  time 
for  further  argument,"  he  silently  pointed  across  the 
square,  while  a  smile,  dazzling  yet  cruel,  played  on  his 
delicately  parted  lips — a  smile  the  covert  meaning  of 
which  was  soon  explained.  For  all  at  once  a  brazen 
roar  of  trumpets  split  the  silence  into  torn  and  discord- 
ant echoes.  The  crowd  turned  swiftly,  and,  seeing  who 
it  was  that  approached,  rushed  hither  and  thither  in  the 
wildest  confusion,  making  as  though  they  would  have 
fled— and  in  less  than  a  minute  a  gleaming  cohort  of 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  OBELISK  321 

mounted  and  armed  spearmen  galloped  furiously  into  the 
thick  of  theme/Se. 

Following  these  came  a  superb  car  drawn  by  six  jet- 
black  horses  that  plunged  and  pranced  through  the  mul- 
titude with  no  more  heed  than  if  these  groups  of  living 
beings  had  been  mere  sheaves  of  corn — a  car  flashing 
from  end  to  end  with  gold  and  precious  stones,  in  which 
towered  the  erect,  massive  form  of  Zephoranim,  the  king. 
His  dark  face  was  ablaze  with  wrath.  Tightly  grasping 
the  reins  of  his  reckless  steeds,  he  drew  himself  haughtily 
upright  and  turned  his  rolling,  fierce  black  eyes  indig- 
nantly from  side  to  side  on  the  scared  people  as  he  drove 
through  their  retreating  ranks,smiting  down  and  mangling 
with  the  sharp  spikes  of  his  tall  chariot-wheels,  men, 
women,  and  children,  without  care  or  remorse,  till  he 
forced  his  terrible  passage  straight  to  the  foot  of  the 
obelisk.  There  he  came  to  an  abrupt  standstill,  and 
lifting  high  his  strong  hand  and  brawny  arm  glittering 
with  jewels,  he  cried: 

"Soldiers!  Seize  yon  traitorous  rebel!  Ten  thousand 
pieces  of  gold  for  the  capture  of  Khosrul!" 

There  was  an  instant  of  hesitation;  not  one  of  the 
populace  stirred  to  obey  the  order.  Then  suddenly,  as 
though  released  by  their  monarch's  command  from  some 
mesmeric  spell,  the  before  inactive  mounted  guards 
started  into  action,  cantered  sharply  forward  and  sur- 
rounded the  obelisk,  while  the  armed  spearmen  closed 
together  and  made  a  swift  advance  upon  the  venerable 
figure  that  stood  alone  and  defenseless,  tranquilly  await- 
ing their  approach.  But  there  was  evidently  some  un- 
known and  mysterious  force  pent  up  within  the  prophet's 
feeble  frame,  for  when  the  soldiers  were  just  about  at 
arm's  length  from  him,  they  seemed  all  at  once  troubled 
and  irresolute,  and  turned  their  looks  away,  as  though 
fearing  to  gaze  too  steadfastly  upon  that  grand  thought- 
furrowed  countenance,  in  which  the  eyes,  made  young  by 
inward  fervor,  blazed  forth  with  unearthly  luster  beneath 
a  silvery  halo  of  tossed  white  hair.  Zephoranim  per- 
ceived this  touch  of  indecision  on  the  part  of  his  men, 
and  his  black  brows  contracted  in  an  omnious  frown. 

"Halt!"  he  shouted  fiercely,  apparently  to  make  it  seem 
io  them  that  the  pause  in  the  action  of  the  soldiery  was 
in  compliance  with  his  own  behest.  "Halt!  Bind  him 
and  bring  him  hither.  I  myself  will  slay  him  I" 


322  "ARDATH" 

"Halt!"  echoed  a  voice,  discordantly  sharp  and  wile 
"Halt  thou  also,  great  Zephoranim !  for  DEATH  bars  thj 
further  progress!"  And  Khosrul,  manifestly  possessed 
by  some  superhuman  access  of  frenzy,  leaped  from  his 
position  on  the  back  of  the  stone  lion,  and  slipping  ag- 
ilely through  the  ranks  of  the  startled  spearmen  and 
guards,  who  were  all  unprepared  for  the  suddenness  and 
rapidity  of  his  movements,  he  sprang  boldly  on  the  edge 
of  the  royal  chariot,  and  there  clung  to  the  jeweled 
wheel,  looking  like  a  gaunt  aerial  specter,  an  ambassador 
of  coming  ruin.  The  king,  speechless  with  amazement 
and  fury,  dragged  at  his  huge  sword  till  he  wrenched  it 
.out  of  its  sheath;  raising  it,  he  whirled  it  round  his  head 
so  that  it  gave  a  murderous  hiss  in  the  air — and  yet — 
was  his  strong  arm  paralyzed  that  he  forebore  to 
strike? 

"Zephoranim!"  cried  Khosrul,  in  tones  that  were  pierc- 
ing and  dolorous  as  the  whistling  of  the  wind  among 
hollow  reeds,  "Zephoranim, thou  shall  die  to-night!  art  thou 
ready?  Art  thou  ready,  proud  king — ready  to  be  made  less 
than  the  lowest  of  the  low?  Hush!  Hush!"  and  his  aged 
face  took  upon  itself  a  ghastly  greenish  pallor.  "Hear  you 
not  the  muttering  of  the  thunder  underground?  There 
are  strange  powers  at  work;  powers  of  the  undug  earth 
and  unfathomed  sea!  Hark  how  they  tear  at  the  stately 
foundations  of  Al-Kyris!  Flame!  flame!  it  is  already 
kindled!  it  shall  enwrap  thee  with  more  closeness  than 
thy  coronation  robe,  O  mighty  sovereign,  with  more 
gloating  fondness  that  the  serpent  twining  arms  of  thy 
beloved!  Listen,  Zephoranim,  listen!" 

Here  he  stretched  out  his  skinny  hand  and  pointed 
upward;  his  eyes  grew  fixed  and  glassy,  his  throat  rat- 
tled convulsively.  At  that  moment  the  monarch,  recov- 
ering his  self-possession,  once  more  lifted  his  sword 
with  direct  and  deadly  aim,  but  the  prophet,  uttering  a 
wild  shriek,  caught  at  his  descending  wrist  and  gripped 
it  fast. 

"See!  See!"  he  exclaimed.  "Put  up  thy  weapon! 
Thou  shall  never  need  it  where  thou  art  summoned!  Lo! 
how  yon  blood-red  letters  blaze  against  the  blue  of  heav- 
en !  There — there  it  comes!  Read — read!  'Tis  written 
plain:  AL-KYRIS  SHALL  FALL  AND  THE  KING  SHALL  DIE!' 
Hist!  hist!  Dumb  oracles  speak  and  dead  voices  find 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  OBELISK  323 

tongue!  Hark  how  they  chant  together  the  old  forgot- 
ten warning: 

'When  the  high-priestess 
Is  the  king's  mistress 
Then  fall  Al-Kyris!' 

Fall  Al-Kyris!  Ay,  the  city  of  a  thousand  palaces  shall 
fall  to-night!  To-night!  O  night  of  desperate  horror! 
and  thou,  O  king,  shalt  die\" 

And  as  he  shrilled  the  last  word  on  the  air  with  ter- 
rific emphasis,  he  threw  up  his  arms  like  a  man  sud- 
denly shot,  and,  reeling  backward,  fell  heavily  on  the 
ground,  a  corpse. 

A  great  cry  went  up  from  the  crowd;  the  king  leaned 
eagerly  out  of  his  car. 

"Is  the  fool  dead,  or  feigning  death?"  he  demanded, 
addressing  one  of  a  group  of  soldiers  standing  near. 

The  officer  stooped  and  felt  the  motionless  body. 

"O  great  king,  live  forever!     He  is  dead!" 

Zephoranim  hesitated.  Cruelty  and  clemency  strug- 
gled for  the  mastery  in  the  varying  expression  of  his 
frowning  face,  but  cruelty  conquered.  Grasping  his 
sword  firmly,  he  bent  still  farther  forward  out  of  his 
chariot,  and  with  one  swift,  keen  stroke  severed  the  life- 
less prophet's  head  from  its  trunk,  and  taking  it  up  on 
the  point  of  his  weapon,  showed  it  to  the  multitude.  A 
smothered,  shuddering  sigh  that  was  half  a  groan  rip- 
pled through  the  dense  throng — a  sound  that  evidently 
added  fresh  irritation  to  the  already  heated  temper  of 
the  haughty  sovereign.  With  a  savage  laugh  he  tossed 
his  piteous  trophy  on  the  pavement,  where  it  lay  in  a 
pool  of  its  own  blood,  the  white  hair  about  it  stained 
ruddily,  and  the  still  open  eyes  upturned  as  though  in 
dumb  appeal  to  heaven.  Then, without  deigning  to  utter 
another  word  or  to  bestow  another  look  upon  the  sur- 
rounding crowd  of  his  disconcerted  subjects,  he  gathered 
up  his  coursers'  reins  and  prepared  to  depart. 

Just  then  the  sun  went  behind  a  cloud,  and  only  a 
side  beam  of  radiance  shot  forth,  pouring  itself  straight 
down  on  the  royally  attired  figure  of  the  monarch  and 
the  headless  body  of  Khosrul,  and  at  the  same  time  bring- 
ing into  sudden  and  prominent  relief  the  silver  cross 
that  glittered  on  the  breast  of  the  bleeding  corpse,  and 
that  seemed  to  mysteriously  offer  itself  as  the  key  to 


324  "ARDATH" 

some  unsolved  enigma.  As  if  drawn  by  one  strangely 
mutual  attraction,  all  eyes,  even  those  of  Zephoranim 
himself,  turned  instinctively  toward  the  flashing  emblem 
which  appeared  to  burn  like  living  fire  on  that  perished 
mass  of  stiffening  clay;  and  there  was  a  brief  silence,  a 
pause,  during  which  Theos,  who  had  watched  every- 
thing with  curiously  calm  interest,  such  as  may  be  felt 
by  a  spectator  watching  the  progress  of  a  finely  acted 
tragedy,  became  conscious  of  the  same  singular  sensa- 
tion he  had  already  several  times  experienced — namely, 
that  he  h<id  witnessed  the  whole  of  this  scene  before! 

He  remembered  it  quite  well,  particularly  that  appar- 
ently trifling  incident  of  the  sunlight  happening  to  shine 
so  brilliantly  on  the  dead  man  and  his  cross  while  the 
rest  of  the  vast  assemblage  were  in  comparative  shadow. 
It  was  very  odd.  His  memory  was  like  a  wonderful  art 
gallery  in  which  some  pictures  were  fresh  of  tint,  while 
others  were  dim  and  faded;  but  this  special  "tableau" 
in  the  square  of  Al-Kyris  was  very  distinctly  painted  in 
brilliant  and  vivid  colors  on  the  somber  background  of 
his  past  recollections,  and  he  found  the  circumstance  so 
remarkable  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  saying  some- 
thing to  Sah-luma  about  it,  when  the  sun  came  out  again 
in  full  splendor,  and  Zephoranim's  spirited  steeds  started 
forward  at  a  canter. 

The  king,  controlling  them  easily  with  one  hand,  ex- 
tended the  other  majestically  by  way  of  formal  salutation 
to  his  people.  His  tall,  muscular  form  was  displayed  to 
the  best  advantage;  the  narrow  jeweled  fillet  that  bound 
his  rough,  dark  locks  emitted  a  myriad  scintillations  of 
light;  his  close-fitting  coat  of  mail,  woven  from  thou- 
sands of  small  links  of  gold,  set  off  his  massive  chest  and 
shoulders  to  perfection;  and  as  he  moved  along  royally 
in  his  sumptuous  car,  the  effect  of  his  striking  presence 
was  such  that  a  complete  change  took  place  in  the  be- 
fore sullen  humor  of  the  populace.  For,  seeing  him  thus 
alive  and  well  in  direct  opposition  to  Khosrul's  ominous 
prediction,  even  as  Sah-luma  also  stood  unharmed  in 
spite  of  his  having  been  apostrophized  as  a  "dying  poet," 
the  mob,  always  dazzled  by  outward  show,  suddenly  set 
up  a  deafening  roar  of  cheering.  The  pallid  hue  of  ter- 
ror vanished  from  faces  that  had  but  lately  looked  spec- 
trally thin  with  speechless  dread,  and  crowds  of  servile 


THE   FALL  OF   THE    OBELISK  325 

petitioners  and — place  hunters  began  to  press  eagerly 
round  their  monacrh's  chariot — when  all  at  once  a  woman 
in  the  throng  gave  a  wild  scream  and  rushed  away  shriek- 
ing: 

"  The  obelisk!   The  obelisk!" 

Every  eye  was  instantly  turned  toward  the  stately 
pillar  of  white  granite  that  sparkled  in  the  sunlight  like 
an  immense  carven  jewel.  Great  heaven!  It  was  tot- 
tering to  and  fro  like  the  unsteady  mast  of  a  ship  at  sea! 
One  look  sufficed,  and  a  frightful  panic  ensued — a  hor- 
rible, brutish  stampede  of  creatures  without  faith  in  any- 
thing human  or  divine  save  their  own  wretched  person- 
alities. The  king,  infected  by  the  general  scr.re,  urged 
his  horses  into  furious  gallop,  and  dashed  through  the 
cursing,  swearing,  howling  throng  like  an  embodied 
whirlwind,  and  for  a  few  seconds  nothing  seemed  dis- 
tinctly visible  but  a  surging  mass  of  infuriated  humanity 
fighting  with  itself  for  life. 

Theos  alone  remained  singularly  calm;  hii  sole  con- 
sideration was  for  his  friend  Sah-luma,  whom  he  en- 
twined with  one  arm  as  he  sprang  down  froxn  the  posi- 
tion they  had  hitherto  occupied  on  the  brink  of  the  foun- 
tain, and  made  straight  for  the  nearest  of  the  six  broad 
avenues  that  opened  directly  into  the  square.  Sah-luma 
looked  pale,  but  was  apparently  unafraid;  he  said  noth- 
ing, and  passively  allowed  himself  to  be  piloted  by  Theos 
through  the  madly  raging  multitude, which, oddly  enough, 
parted  before  them  like  mist  before  the  wind,  so  that  in 
a  magically  short  interval  they  successfully  reached  a 
place  of  safety. 

And  they  reached  it  not  a  moment  too  scon.  For  the 
obelisk  was  now  plainly  seen  to  be  lurching  forward  at 
an  angle  of  several  degrees;  strange  mulfled,  roaring 
sounds  were  heard  at  its  base,  as  though  demons  were 
digging  up  its  foundations;  then,  seemingly  shaken  by  un- 
derground tremors,  it  began  to  oscillate  violently,  a  ter- 
rific explosion  was  heard  as  of  the  bursting  of  a  giant 
bomb,  and  immediately  afterward  the  majestic  monolith 
toppled  over  and  fell  with  a  crash  of  a  colossal  cannon- 
ade that  sent  its  thunderous  reverberations  through  and 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  city!  Hundreds 
of  persons  were  killed  and  wounded;  many  of  the 
mounted  guards  and  spearmen  who  were  striving  to  force 


326  "ARDATH" 

a  way  of  escape  through  the  crowd  were  struck  down 
and  crushed  pell-mell  with  their  horses  as  they  rode;  the 
desperate  people  trampled  each  other  to  death  in  their 
frenzied  efforts  to  reach  the  nearest  outlet  to  the  river 
embankment;  but  when  once  the  obelisk  had  actually 
fallen,all  this  turmoil  was  for  an  instant  checked,and  the 
gasping,  torn,  and  bleeding  survivors  of  the  struggle 
stopped,  as  it  were,  to  take  breath,  and  stared  in  blank 
dismay  upon  the  strange  ruin  before  them. 

Theos,  still  holding  Sah-luma  by  the  arm  with  the  pro- 
tecting fondness  of  an  elder  brother  guarding  a  younger, 
gazed  also  at  the  scene  with  quiet,  sorrowfully  wonder- 
ing eyes.  For  it  meant  something  to  him,  he  was  sure, 
because  it  was  so  familiar;  yet  he  found  it  impossible 
to  grasp  the  comprehension  of  that  meaning.  It  was  a 
singular  spectacle  enough:  the  lofty,  four-sided  white 
pillar  that  had  so  lately  been  a  monumental  glory  of  Al- 
Kyris  had  split  itself  with  the  violence  of  its  fall  into 
two  huge  desolate-looking  fragments,  which  now  lay 
one  on  each  side  of  the  square,  as  though  flung  hither 
by  a  Titan's  hand;  the  great  lion  had  been  hurled  from 
its  position  and  overturned  like  a  toy,  while  the  shield 
it  had  supported  between  its  paws  had  entirely  disap- 
peared in  minutely  scattered  atoms;  the  fountains  had 
altogether  ceased  playing.  Now  and  then  a  thin  vapor- 
ous stream  of  smoke  appeared  to  issue  between  the  cran- 
nies of  the  pavements;  otherwise  there  was  no  visible 
sign  of  the  mysterious  force  that  had  wrought  so  swift 
and  sudden  a  work  of  destruction;  the  sun  shone  bril- 
liantly, and  over  all  the  havoc  beamed  the  placid  bright- 
ness of  a  cloudless  summer  sky. 

The  most  prominent  object  of  all  amid  the  general 
devastation, and  the  one  that  fascinated  Theos  more  than 
the  view  of  the  destroyed  monolith  and  the  debased 
lion,  was  the  uninjured  head  of  the  prophet  Khosrul. 
There  it  lay,  exactly  between  the  sundered  halves  of 
the  obelisk;  pale  rays  of  light  glimmered  on  its  blood- 
stained silvery  hair  and  open,  glazed  eyes;  a  solemn 
smile  seemed  graven  on  its  waxen-pallid  features.  And 
at  a  little  distance  off,  on  the  breast  of  the  black  robed 
headless  corpse  that  remained  totally  uncrushed  in  an 
open  space  by  itself,  among  the  surrounding  heaps  of 
slain  and  wounded,  glistened  the  cross  like  a  fiery  gem 


A  GOLDEN  TRESS 

— an  all-significant  talisman  that,  as  he  beheld  it,  filled 
Theos'  heart  with  a  feverish  craving,  an  inexplicable 
desire  mingled  with  remorse  far  greater  than  any  fear. 
Instinctively  he  drew  Sah-luma  away — away;  still  keep- 
ing his  wistful  gaze  fixed  on  that  uncomprehended,  yet 
soul-recognized  symbol,  till  gradually  the  drooping 
branches  of  trees  interrupted  and  shadowed  the  vista, 
and,  as  he  moved  farther  and  farther  backward,  closed 
their  soft  network  of  green  foliage  like  a  closing  curtain 
on  the  strange  but  awfully  remembered  scene,  shutting 
it  out  from  his  bewildered  sight  forever! 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A     GOLDEN   TRESS. 

ONCE  clear  of  the  square,  the  two  friends  apparently 
became  mutually  conscious  of  the  peril  they  had  just  es- 
caped, and  coming  to  a  sudden  standstill  they  looked  at 
each  other  in  blank,  stupefied  silence.  Crowds  of  peo- 
ple streamed  past  them,  wandering  hither  and  thither  in 
confused,  cloudy  masses,  some  with  groans  and  dire 
lamentations  bearing  away  their  dead  and  wounded, 
others  rushing  frantically  about,  beating  their  breasts, 
tearing  their  hair,  calling  on  the  gods,  and  lamenting 
Khosrul,  while  not  a  few  muttered  curses  on  the  king. 
And  ever  and  anon  the  name  of  "Lysia,"  coupled  with 
heavy  execrations,  was  hissed  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
which  Theos,  overhearing,  began  to  foresee  might  serve 
as  likely  cause  for  Sah-luma' s  taking  offense  and  pos- 
sibly resenting  in  his  own  person  this  public  disparage- 
ment of  the  woman  he  loved.  Therefore,  without  more 
ado,  he  roused  himself  from  his  momentarily  dazed  con- 
dition, and  urged  his  comrade  on  at  a  quick  pace  toward 
the  safe  shelter  of  his  own  palace,  where  at  any  rate  he 
could  be  kept  out  of  the  reach  of  immediate  harm. 

The  twain  walked  side  by  side,  exchanging  scarcely  a 
word.  Sah-luma  seemed  in  a  manner  stunned  by  the 
violence  of  the  late  catastrophe,  and  Theos  was  too  busy 
with  his  own  thoughts  to  speak.  On  their  way  they 


328  "ARBATH" 

were  overtaken  by  the  king's  chariot/  It  flew  by  with 
a  glittering  whirl  and  clatter,  amid  sweeping  clouds  of 
dust,  through  which  the  dark  face  of  Zephoranim  loomed 
out  upon  them  like  an  almost  palpable  shadow.  As  it  van- 
ished Sah-luma  stopped  short  and  stared  at  his  com- 
panion in  utter  amazement. 

"By  my  soul!"  he  exclaimed  indignantly,  "the  whole 
world  must  be  going  mad!  'Tis  the  first  time  in  all  ray 
days  of  laureateship  that  Zephoranim  hath  failed  to  rever- 
ently salute  me  as  he  passed!" 

And  he  looked  far  more  perturbed  than  when  the  falling 
obelisk  had  threatened  him  with  imminent-  destruction, 

Theos  caught  his  arm  with  a  quick  movement  of  vexed 
impatience. 

"Tush,  man,  no  matter!"  he  said  hastily.  "What  are 
kings  to  thee — thou  who  art  an  emperor  of  song?  These 
little  potentates  that  wield  earth's  scepters  are  as  fickle 
in  their  moods  as  the  very  mob  they  are  supposed  to  gov- 
ern; moreover,  thou  knowest  Zephoranim  hath  had  enough 
to-day  to  startle  him  out  of  all  accustomed  rules  of  cour- 
tesy. Be  assured  of  it,  his  mind  is  like  a  ship  at  sea, 
storm-tossed  and  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds.  Thou  canst 
not  surely  blame  him  that  for  once,  after  so  strange  a 
turbulence  and  unwonted  a  disaster,  he  hath  no  eyes  for 
thee  whose  sole  sweet  mission  is  to  minister  to  pleasure." 

"To  minister  to  pleasure!"  echoed  Sah-luma  petu- 
lantly. "Nay,  have  I  done  nothing  more  than  this?  Art 
thou  already  grown  so  disloyal  a  friend  that  thou  wilt 
half  repeat  the  jargon  of  yon  dead  fanatic  Khosrul,  who 
dared  to  tell  me  I  had  served  my  art  unfittingly?  Have 
I  not  ministered  to  grief  as  well  as  joy,  to  hours  of  pain 
and  bitterness  as  well  as  to  long  days  of  ease  and  amor- 
ous dreaming?  Have  I  not — "  here  he  paused  and  a 
warm  flush  crept  through  the  olive  pallor  of  his  skin; 
his  eyes  grew  plaintive  and  wistful,  and  he  threw  one 
arm  round  Theos'  neck  as  he  continued:  "No!  after  all, 
'tis  vain  to  deny  it.  I  have  hated  grief,  I  have  loathed 
the  very  suggestion  of  care,  I  have  thrust  sorrow  out  of 
my  sight  as  a  thing  vile  and  unwelcome,  and  I  have  chosen 
to  sing  to  the  world  of  rapture  more  than  pain,  inasmuch 
as  methinks  humanity  suffers  enough  without  having  its 
cureless  anguish  set  to  the  music  of  a  poet's  rhythm  to 
incessantly  haunt  and  torture  its  already  breaking  heart.  " 


A  GOLDEN  TRESS  329 

"Say  rather  to  soothe  and  tranquilize, "  murmured 
Theos,  more  to  himself  than  to  his  friend;  "for  sup- 
pressed sorrow  is  hardest  to  endure,  and  when  grief  once 
rinds  apt  utterance  'tis  already  half-consoled!  So  should 
the  world's  great  singers  tenderly  proclaim  the  world's 
most  speechless  miseries,  and  who  knows  but  vexed  cre- 
ation, being  thus  relieved  of  pent-up  woe,  may  not  take 
new  heart  of  grace  and  comfort?" 

The  words  were  spoken  in  a  soft  sotto-voce,  and  Sah- 
luma  seemed  not  to  hear.  He  leaned,  however,  very 
confidingly  and  affectionately  against  Theos'  shoulder 
as  he  walked  along,  and  appeared  to  have  speedily  for- 
gotten his  annoyance  at  the  recent  slighting  conduct  of 
the  king. 

"I  marvel  at  the  downfall  of  the  obelisk!"  he  said 
presently.  '"Twas  rooted  full  twenty  feet  deep  in  solid 
earth;  maybe  the  foundations  were  ill-fitted;  neverthe- 
less, if  history  speak  truly,  it  hath  stood  unshaken  for 
two  thousand  years!  Strange  that  it  should  be  new 
hurled  forth  thus  desperately!  I  would  I  knew  the  hid- 
den cause.  Many,  alas!  have  met  their  death  to  day, 
pushed  out  of  life  in  haste — all  unprepared.  One  wcn- 
ders  where  such  souls  have  fled!  Something  there  is  that 
troubles  me.  Methinks  I  am  more  than  half  disposed 
to  leave  Al-Kyris  for  a  time,  and  wander  forth  into  a 
world  of  unknown  things — " 

"With  me!"  cried  Theos  impetuously.  "Come  with 
me,  Sah-luma!  Come  now,  this  very  day!  I,  too,  have 
been  warned  of  evil — evil  undeclared,  yet  close  at  hand. 
Let  us  escape  from  danger  while  time  remains!  Let 
us  depart!" 

"Whither  should  we  go?"  And  Sah-luma,  pausing  in 
his  walk,  fixed  his  large,  soft  eyes  full  on  his  companion 
as  he  put  the  question. 

Theos  was  mute.  Covered  with  confusion,  he  asked 
himself  the  same  thing.  "Whither  should  we  go?"  He 
had  no  knowledge  of  the  country  that  lay  outside  Al- 
Kyris;  he  had  no  distinct  remembrance  of  any  other 
place  than  this  in  which  he  was.  All  his  past  existence 
was  as  blotted  and  blurred  as  a  child's  spoiled  and  dis- 
carded copy-book.  True,  he  retained  two  names  in  his 
thoughts,  namely,  "Ardath"  and  "The  Pass  of  Dariel,  " 
but  he  was  hopelessly  ignorant  as  to  what  these  meant 


330  "ARDATH" 

or  how  he  had  become  connected  with  them.  He  was 
roused  from  his  distressful  cogitation  by  Sah-luma's 
voice  speaking  again  half-gayly,  half-sadly : 

"Nay,  nay,  my  friend,  we  cannot  leave  the  city,  we 
two,  alone  and  unguided,  for  beyond  the  gates  is  the 
desert  wide  and  bare,  with  scarce  a  spring  of  cool  water 
in  many  weary  miles;  and  beyond  the  desert  is  a  forest 
gloomy  and  tiger-haunted,  wherein  the  footsteps  of  man 
have  seldom  penetrated.  To  travel  thus  far  we  should 
need  mach  preparation — many  servants,  many  beasts  of 
burden,  and  many  months'  provisions;  moreover,  'tis 
a  foolish  fancy  crossed  my  mind  at  best — for  what  should 
I,  the  laureate  of  Al-Kyris,  do  in  other  lands?  Besides, 
my  departure  would  indeed  be  the  desolation  of  the  city; 
well  may  Al-Kyris  fall  when  Sah-luma  no  longer  abides 
within  it!  Saaward  the  way  lies  open.  Maybe  in  days 
to  come  we  twain  miy  take  ship  and  sail  hence  for  a 
brief  sojourn  to  those  distant  western  shores,  whence 
thou,  though  thou  sayest  naught  of  them,  must  assuredly 
have  come.  I  have  often  dreamed  idly  of  a  gray  coast 
washed  with  dull  rain  and  swathed  in  sweeping  mists 
where  ever  and  anon  the  sun  shines  through;  a  country 
cheerless,  where  a  poet's  fame  like  mine  might  ring  the 
darkness  of  the  skies  with  light  and  stir  the  sleepy  silence 
into  song!" 

Still  Theos  said  nothing;  there  were  hot  tears  in  his 
throat  that  choked  his  utterance.  He  gazed  up  at  the 
glowing  sky  above  him  ;  it  was  a  burning  vault  of  cloud- 
less blue,  in  which  the  sun  glared  forth  witheringly,  lika 
a  scorching  mass  of  flame.  Oh  for  the  freshness  of  "a 
gray  coast  washed  with  dull  rain  and  swathed  in  sweep- 
ing mists,"  such  as  Sah-luma  spoke  of!  And  what 
a  strange,  sickening  yearning  suddenly  filled  his  soul  for 
the  unforgotten  sonorous  dash  of  the  sea!  He  drew  a 
quick  breath  and  pressed  his  friend's  arm  with  uncon- 
scious fervor.  Why,  why  could  he  not  take  this  dear 
companion  away  out  of  possible  peril — away  to  those  far 
lands  dimly  remembered,  yet  now  so  completely  lost 
sight  of  that  they  seemed  to  him  but  as  a  delusive  mirage 
faintly  discerned  above  the  rising  waters  of  Lethe?  Sigh- 
ing deeply,  he  controlled  his  emotion  and  forced  himself 
to  speak  calmly,  though  his  voice  trembled: 

now,  then,  but    hereafter,  thou'lt  be    my  fellpw 


A  GOLDEN  TRESS  331 

v  \m 

traveler,  Sah-luma?  'Twill  be  a  joyous  time  when  we, 
set  free  of  present  hindrance,  may  journey  through  a 
myriad  glorious  scenes  together,  sharing  such  news  and 
mutual  gladness  that  perchance  we  scarce  shall  miss  the 
splendor  of  Al-Kyris  left  behind!  Meanwhile  I  would 
that  thou  couldst  promise  me  one  thing — "  Here  he 
paused,  but  seeing  Sah-luma' s  inquiring  look,  went  on 
in  a  low,  eager  tone:  "Go  not  to  the  temple  to-night; 
absent  thyself  from  this  sacrifice,  which,  though  it  be  the 
law  of  the  realm,  is  nevertheless  mere  murderous  barbar- 
ity; and — inasmuch  as  the  king  is  wrathful — I  pray  thee 
avoid  his  presence!" 

Sah-luma  broke  into  a  laugh.  "Now,  by  my  faith, 
good  comrade,  as  well  ask  me  for  my  head  as  demand 
such  impossibilities!  Absent  myself  from  the  temple  to- 
night of  all  nights  in  the  world,  when,  owing  to  these 
late  phenomenal  occurrences  in  the  city,  every  one  who 
is  of  repute  and  personal  distinction  will  be  present  to 
assist  at  the  service  and  offer  petitions  to  the  fabulous 
gods  that  haply  their  supposed  indignation  may  be 
averted?  My  friend,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  custom  I 
must  be  there.  Moreover,  I  should  be  liable  to  banish- 
ment from  the  realm  for  so  specially  marked  a  breach 
of  religious  discipline.  And  as  for  the  king,  he  is  my 
puppet.  Were  he  savage  as  a  starving  bear,  my  voice 
could  tame  him;  and  concerning  his  late  churlishness, 
'twas  no  doubt  mere  heat  of  humor,  and  thou  shalt  see 
him  sue  to  me  for  pardon  as  only  monarchs  can  sue  to 
the  bards  who  keep  them  on  their  thrones.  Knowest  thou 
not  that  were  I  to  string  three  stanzas  of  a  fiery  repub- 
lican ditty  and  set  it  floating  on  the  lips  of  the  people, 
that  song  would  sing  down  Zephoranim  from  his  royal 
estate  more  surely  than  the  fury  of  an  armed  conqueror? 
Believe  it!  we,  the  poets,  rule  the  nations;  a  rhyme  has 
oft  had  power  to  kill  a  king!" 

Theos  smiled  at  the  proud  boast,  but  made  no  reply, 
as  by  this  time  they  had  reached  the  laureate's  palace  and 
were  ascending  the  steps  that  led  into  the  entrance  halL 
A  young  page  advanced  to  meet  them,  and  dropping  on 
one  knee  before  his  master,  held  out  a  small  scroll  tied 
across  and  across  with  what  appeared  to  be  a  thick  strand 
of  amber-colored  floss  silk. 

"For  the  most  illustrious    ckief  of    poets,  Sah-luma, M 


332  ''ARDATH" 

said  the  little  lad,  keeping  his  head  bent  humbly  as  he 
spoke.  "It  was  brought  lately  by  one  masked,  who  rode 
in  haste  and  fear,  and  ere  he  could  be  questioned,  swift 
departed." 

Sah-luma  took  the  missive  carelessly,  scarcely  glanc- 
ing at  it,  and  crossed  the  hall  toward  his  own  apartment, 
Theos  following  him.  On  his  way,  however,  he  paused 
and  turned  around. 

"Has  Niphrata  yet  come  home?"  he  demanded  of  the 
page,  who  still  lingered. 

"No,  my  lord;  naught  hath  been  seen  or  heard  con- 
cerning her." 

Sah-luma  gave  a  petulant  gesture  of  annoyance  and 
passed  on.  Arrived  in  his  study  he  seated  himself,  and 
allowed  his  eyes  to  rest  more  attentively  on  the  packet 
just  given  him.  As  he  looked,  he  uttered  a  slight  ex- 
clamation. Theos  hastened  to  his  side. 

"What  has  happened,  Sah-luma?  Hast  thou  ill  news?" 

"Ill  news?  Nay,  of  a  truth  I  know  not,"  and  the  lau- 
reate gazed  up  blankly  into  his  friend's  face.  "But  this, 
and  he  touched  the  fair,  silken  substance  that  tied  the 
scroll  he  held — "this  is  Niphrata's  hair!" 

"Niphrata's  hair!"  Theos  was  too  much  surprised  to 
do  more  than  repeat  the  words  mechanically,  while  a 
strange  pang  shot  through  his  heart  as  of  inward  shame 
or  sorrow. 

"Naught  can  deceive  me  in  the  color  of  that  gold!" 
went  on  Sah-luma  dreamily,  as  with  careful,  somewhat 
tremulous  fingers  he  gently  loosened  the  twisted,  shin- 
ing threads  that  were  so  delicately  knotted  together,  and, 
smoothing  them  out  to  their  full  length,  displayed  what 
was  indeed  a  lovely  tress  of  hair;  bright  as  woven  sun- 
light with  a  rippling  wave  in  it,  that,  like  the  tendril  of 
a  vine,  caught  and  wound  about  his  hand  as  though  it 
were  a  fond  and  feeling  thing. 

"See  you  not,  Theos,  how  warm  and  soft  and  shudder- 
ing a  curl  it  is?  It  clings  to  me  as  if  it  knew  my  touch— 
as  if  it  half-remembered  how  many  and  many  a  time  it 
hath  been  drawn  with  its  companions  to  my  lips  and 
kissed  fuli  tenderly!  How  sad  and  desolate  it  seems, 
thus  severed  and  alone!" 

He  spoke  gently,  yet  not  without  a  touch  of  passion, 
*nd  twined  the  fair  tresses  lingeringly  round  his  fingers; 


A  GOLDEN  TRESS  333 

then  with  the  air  of  one  who  is  instinctively  prepared 
for  some  unpleasing  tidings,  he  opened  the  scroll  and 
perused  its  contents  in  silence  As  he  read  on  his  face 
grew  very  pale  and  full  of  pained  and  wondering  regret; 
quietly  he  passed  the  missive  to  Theos,  who  took  it  from 
his  hand  with  a  tremor  of  something  like  fear.  Th* 
delicately  traced  characters  with  which  it  was  covered 
floated  for  a  moment  in  a  faint  blur  before  his  eyes,  then 
they  resolved  themselves  into  legible  shape  and  mean'ng 
as  follows: 

"To   the  ever-worshiped    and    immortally    renowned    Sah-luma,    Poet- 
Laureate  of  the  Kingdom  of  Al-Kyris. 

"Blame  me  not,  O  my  beloved  lord,  that  I  have  left  thy  dearest  pres- 
ence thus  unwarnedly  forever,  staying  no  time  to  weary  thee  with  my  too 
fond  and  foolish  tears  and  kisses  of  farewell.  I  owe  to  thee  the  gift  of 
freedom,  and  while  I  thank  thee  for  that  gift,  I  do  employ  it  now  to  serve 
me  as  a  sacrifice  to  love — an  immolation  of  myself  upon  the  altars  of  my 
own  desire.  For  thou  knowest  I  have  loved  thee,  O  Sah-luma!  not  too 
well  but  most  unwisely;  for  what  am  I  that  thou  shouldst  stoop  to  cover 
my  unworthiness  with  the  royal  purple  of  thy  poet-passion — what  could 
I  ever  be  save  the  poor  trembling  slave-idolator,  of  whose  endearments 
thou  must  needs  most  speedily  tire?  Nevertheless,  I  cannot  still  this 
hunger  of  my  heart,  this  love  that  stings  me  more  than  it  consoles;  and, 
out  of  the  very  transport  of  my  burning  thoughts  I  have  learned  many 
and  strange  things — things  whereby  I,  a  woman,  feeble  and  unlessoned. 
have  grasped  the  glimmering  foreknowledge  of  events  to  come — events 
wherein  I  do  perceive  for  thee,  thou  chiefest  among  men,  some  dark  and 
threatening  disaster.  Wherefore  I  have  prayed  unto  the  most  high 
gods,  that  they  will  deign  to  accept  me  as  thy  hostage  to  misfortune,  and 
set  me  as  a  bar  between  thy  life  and  dawiv.ng  peril,  so  that  I,  long  value- 
less, may  serve  at  least  a  while  to  avert  doom  from  thee,  who  art  unpar- 
agoned  throughout  the  world! 

"Thus  I  go  forth  alone  to  brave  and  pacify  the  wrath  of  immortals. 
Call  me  not  back  nor  weep  for  my  departure — thou  wilt  not  miss  me 
long!  To  die  for  thee,  Sah-luma,  is  better  than  to  live  for  thee,  for 
living  I  must  needs  be  conquered  by  my  sin  of  love  and  lose  myself  and 
thee;  but  in  the  quiet  afterward  of  death  no  passion  shall  have  strength 
to  mar  the  peaceful,  patient  waiting  of  my  soul  on  thine!  Fare  well,  thou 
utmost  heart  of  my  weak  heart — thou  only  life  of  my  frail  life!  Think 
of  me  sometimes  if  thou  wilt,  but  only  as  of  a  flower  thou  didst  gather 
once  in  some  past  half-forgotten  springtime — a  flower  that,  as  it  slowly 
withered,  blessed  the  dear  hand  in  whose  warm  clasp  it  died! 

"NlPHRATA." 

Tears  rose  to  Theos'  eyes  as  he  finished  reading  these 
evidently  unpremeditated,  pathetic  words  that  suggested 
so  much  more  than  they  actually  declared.  He  silently 
returned  the  scroll  to  Sah-luma,  who  sat  very  still, 
thoughtfully  stroking  the  long,  bright  curl  that  was 


334  "ARDATH" 

twisted  around  his  fingers  like  a  glittering  strand  of  spun 
glass,  and  he  felt  all  at  once  so  unreasonably  irritated 
with  his  friend  that  he  was  even  inclined  to  find  fault 
with  the  very  grace  and  beauty  of  his  person ;  the  mere 
indolence  of  his  attitude  was.  for  the  moment,  provok- 
ing. 

"Why  art  thou  so  unmoved?"  he  demanded  almost 
sternly.  "What  hast  thou  done  to  Niphrata  to  thus 
grieve  her  gentle  spirit  beyond  remedy?" 

Sah-luma  looked  up  like  a  surprised  child. 

"Done?  Nay,  what  should  I  do?  1  have  let  her  love 
me!" 

O  sublime  permission!  He  had  K  let  her  love"  him! 
He  had  condescendingly  allowed  her,  as  it  were,  to  waste 
all  the  treasures  of  her  soul  upon  him!  Theos  stared  at 
him  in  vague  amazejnant,  while  he,  apparently  tired  of 
his  own  reflections,  continued  with  some  impatience: 

"What  more  could  she  desire?  I  never  barred  her 
from  my  presence  nor  checked  the  fervor  of  her  greetings. 
I  wore  the  flowers  she  chose,  I  listened  to  the  songs  she 
sang,  and  when  she  looked  more  fair  than  ordinary  I 
stinted  not  the  warmth  of  my  caresses.  She  was  too 
meek  and  loving  for  my  fancy;  no  will  save  mine,  no 
happiness  save  in  m)'  company,  no  thought  beyond  my 
pleasure — one  wearies  of  such  a  fond  excess  of  sweetness! 
Nevertheless,  her  sole  delight  was  still  to  serve  me ; 
could  I  debar  her  from  that  joy  because  I  saw  therein 
some  danger  for  her  peace?  Slave  as  she  was,  I  made 
her  free,  and  lo!  how  capriciously  she  plays  with  her 
late-given  liberty!  'Tis  always  the  way  with  women — 
no  man  shall  ever  learn  how  best  to  please  them !  She 
knew  I  loved  her  not  as  lovers  love,  she  knew  my  hear* 
was  elsewhere  fixed  and  fated;  and  if,  notwithstanding 
this  knowledge,  she  still  chose  to  love  me,  then  assuredly 
her  grief  is  of  her  own  cresting.  Methinks  'tis  I  who  am 
most  injured  in  this  matter.  All  the  day  long  I  have 
tormented  myself  concerning  the  silly  maiden's  absence, 
while  she,  seized  by  some  crazed  idea  of  new  adventure, 
has  gone  forth  heedlessly,  scarce  knowing  whither.  Her 
letter  is  the  exalted  utterance  of  an  over-wrought,  ex' 
cited  brain;  she  has  in  all  likelihood  caught  the  conta- 
gion of  superstitious  alarm  that  seems  just  now  to  pos- 
sess thi  whole  city,  and  shs  knows  naught  of  what  sh^ 


A  GOLDEN  TRESS  335 

writes  or  what  she  means  to  do.  To  leave  me  forever, 
as  she  says,  is  out  of  her  power,  for  I  will  demand  her 
back  at  the  hands  of  Lysia  or  the  king,  and  no  demand 
of  mine  has  ever  been  refused.  Moreover,  with  Lysia's 
aid  her  hiding-place  is  soon  and  easily  discovered." 

"How?"  asked  Theos  mechanically,  still  surveying 
the  beautiful,  calm  features  of  the  charming  egotist  whose 
nature  seemed  such  a  curious  mixture  of  loftiness  and 
littleness.  "She  may  have  left  the  city." 

"No  one  can  leave  the  city  without  express  permis- 
sion," rejoined  Sah-luma  tranquilly.  "Besides,  didst 
thou  not  see  the  black  disc  last  night  in  Lysia's  pal- 
ace?" 

Theos  nodded  assent.  He  at  once  remembered  the 
strange  revolving  thing  that  had  covered  itself  with  bril- 
liant letters  at  the  approach  of  the  high  priestess,  and 
he  waited  somewhat  eagerly  to  hear  the  meaning  of  so 
singular  an  object  explained. 

"The  priests  of  the  Temple  of  Nagaya, "  went  on 
Sah-luma,  "are  the  greatest  scientists  in  the  world,  with 
the  exception  of  the  lately  formed  Circle  of  Mystics,  who, 
it  must  be  confessed,  exceed  them  in  certain  new  lines 
of  discovery.  But  setting  aside  the  mystic  school,  which 
it  behooves  us  not  to  speak  of,  seeing  it  is  condemned 
by  law,  there  are  no  men  living  more  subtly  wise  in 
matters  pertaining  to  aerial  force  and  light  phenomena 
than  the  Servants  of  the  Secret  Doctrine  of  the  Temple. 
All  seeming  marvelous  things  are  to  them  mere  child's 
play,  and  the  miracles  by  which  they  keep  the  multitude 
in  awe  are  not  by  any  means  vulgar,  but  most  exquis- 
itely scientific.  As  for  instance,  at  the  great  New  Year 
festival,  called  by  us  'The  Sailing  Forth  of  the  Ship  of 
the  Sun,'  which  takes  place  at  the  commencement  of  the 
spring  solstice,  a  fire  is  kindled  on  the  summit  of  the 
highest  tower,  and  a  ship  of  gold  rises  from  the  center 
of  the  flames,  carrying  the  body  of  a  slain  virgin  east- 
ward. 'Tis  wondrously  performed,  and  I,  like  others, 
have  gaped  upon  the  splendor  of  the  scene  half-credulous 
and  wholly  dazzled.  For  the  ship  doth  rise  aloft  with 
excellent  stateliness,  ploughing  the  air  with  as  much 
celerity  as  sailing-vessels  plough  the  seas.  Departing 
straightway  from  the  watching  eyes  of  thousands  of  spec- 
tators, it  plunges  deep,  or  so  it  seems,  into  the  very  heart 


336  "ARDATH  • 

of  the  rising  sun,  which  doth  apparently  absorb  it  in  de- 
vouring flames  of  glory,  for  never  again  doth  it  return 
to  earth,  and  none  can  solve  the  mystery  of  its  vanish- 
ing! 'Tis  a  graceful  piece  of  jugglery  and  perfectly  ac- 
complished, while  as  for  oracles*  that  command  and 
repeat  their  commands  in  every  shade  of  tone,  from  mild 
to  wrathful,  there  are  only  too  many  of  these;  moreover, 
the  secret  of  their  manufacture  is  well  known  to  all 
students  of  acoustic  science.  But  concerning  the  black 
disc  in  Lysia's  hall,  it  is  a  curiously  elaborate  piece  of 
workmanship.  It  corresponds  with  an  electric  wheel  in 
the  interior  chamber  of  the  temple,  where  all  the  priests 
and  flamens  meet  and  sum  up  the  entire  events  of  the 
day,  both  public  and  private,  condensing  the  same  into 
brief  hieroglyphs.  Setting  their  wheel  in  motion,  they 
start  a  similar  motion  in  the  disc,  and  the  bright  char- 
acters that  flash  upon  it  and  disappear  like  quicksilver 
are  the  reflections  of  the  working  electric  wires  which 
write  what  only  Lysia  is  skilled  to  read.  From  sunset 
to  midnight  these  messages  keep  coming  without  inter- 
mission, and  all  the  most  carefully  concealed  affairs  of 
Al-Kyris  are  discovered  by  the  temple  spies  and  conveyed 
to  Lysia  by  this  means.  Whatever  the  news,  it  is  re- 
peated again  and  again  on  the  disc,  till  she,  by  rapidly 
turning  it  with  a  peculiar  movement  of  her  own,  causes 
a  small  bell  to  ring  in  the  Temple,  which  signifies  to 
her  informers  that  she  has  understood  all  their  communi- 
cations, and  knows  everything.  Her  inquisitorial  system 
is  searching  and  elaborate;  there  is  no  secret  so  care- 
fully guarded  that  the  black  disc  will  not  in  time  reveal!" 
Theos  listened  wonderingly  and  with  a  sense  of  repug- 
nance and  fear;  he  felt  as  though  the  beautiful  priestess, 
with  her  glittering  robes  and  the  dreadful  jeweled  eye 
upon  her  breast,  were  just  then  entering  the  room  stealth- 
ily and  rustling  hither  and  thither  like  a  snake  beneath 
covering  leaves.  She  was  an  ever-present  temptation — 
a  bewildering  snare  and  distracting  evil.  Was  it  not  pos- 
sible to  shake  her  trail  off  the  life  of  his  friend,  and  also 
to  pluck  from  out  his  own  heart  the  poison-sting  of  her 
fatal,  terrible  fascination?  A  red  mist  swam  before  his 
eyes;  his  lips  were  dry  and  feverish,  and  his  voice 
sounded  hoarse  and  faint  in  his  own  ears  when  he  forced 
himself  to  speak  again. 

*The  phonograph  was  known  and  used  for  the  utterance  of  oracles  by 
one  Savaa  tne  Asmounian,  a  priest-king. <rt  aacient  Egypt. 


A  GOLDEN  TRESS  337 

"So  thou  dost  think  that  wheresoever  Niphrata  hath 
•strayed,  Lysia  can  find  her?"  he  said. 

"Assuredly!"  returned  Sah-luma  with  easy  compla- 
;cei>cy.  "I  would  swear  that  even  at  this  very  moment 
'Lysia  could  restore  her  to  my  arms  in  safety." 

"Then  why,"  suggested  Theos  anxiously,  "why  not  go 
rforth  and  seek  her  now?" 

"Nay,  there  is  time!"  And  Sah-luma  half-closed  his 
llanguid  lids  and  stretched  himself  lazily.  "I  would  not 
•  have  the  child  imagine  I  vexed  myself  too  greatly  for 
'her  unkind  departure;  she  must  have  space  wherein  to 
weep  and  repent  her  of  her  folly.  She  is  the  strangest 
maiden!"  And  he  brushed  his  lips  lightly  against  the 
golden  curl  he  held.  "She  loves  me,  and  yet  repulses 
all  attempted  passion.  I  remember" — here  his  face  grew 
more  serious — "1  remember  one  night  in  the  beginning 
of  summer  the  moon  was  round  and"  high  in  heaven;  we 
were  alone  together  in  this  room;  the  lamps  burned  low 
and  she — Niphrata — sang  to  me.  Her  voice  was  full,  and 
withal  tremulous;  her  form,  bent  to  her  ebony  harp, 
was  soft  and  yielding  as  an  iris  stem;  her  eyes,  turned 
upon  mine,  seemed  wonderingly  to  question  me  as  to  the 
worth  of  love — or  so  I  fancied.  The  worth  of  love  !  I 
would  have  taught  it  to  her  then  in  the  rapture  of  an 
hour,  but  seized  with  sudden,  foolish  fear  she  fled,  leav- 
ing me  dissatisfied,  indifferent,  and  weary.  No  matter! 
When  she  returns  again  her  mood  will  alter,  and  though 
I  love  her  not  as  she  would  fain  be  loved,  1  shall  find 
means  to  make  her  happy." 

"Nay,  but  she  speaks  of  dying,"  said  Theos  quickly. 
"Wilt  thou  constrain  her  back  from  death?" 

"My  friend,  all  women  speak  of  dying  when  they  are 
love-wearied,"  replied  Sah-luma  with  a  slight  smile. 
"Niphrata  will  not  die — she  is  too  young  and  fond  of 
life;  the  world  is  as  a  garden  wherein  she  has  but  lately 
entered,  all  ignorant  of  the  pleasures  that  await  her 
there.  'Tis  an  odd  notion  that  she  has  of  danger  threat- 
ening me.  Thou,  also,  good  Theos,  art  become  full  of 
omens,  and  yet  there  is  naught  of  visible  ill  to  trouble 
the  fairness  of  the  day. " 

He  stepped  out  as  he  spoke  on  the  terrace  and  looked 
up  at  the  intense  calm  of  the  lovely  sky.  Thecs  followed 
him  and  stood  leaning  on  the  balustrade  amone:  the 


338  "ARDATH" 

clambering  vines,  watching  him  with  earnest,  half-re 
gretful,  half-adoring  eyes.  He,  meanwhile,  gathered  a 
scarcely-opened  white  rosebud,  and,  loosening  the  tress 
of  Niphrata's  hair  from  his  fingers,  allowed  it  to  hang 
to  its  full  rippling  length;  then  laying  the  flower  against 
it,  he  appeared  dreamily  to  admire  the  contrast  between 
the  snowy  blossom  and  shining  curl. 

"Many  strange  men  there  are  in  -the  world,"  he  said 
softly;  "lovers  and  fools  who  set  priceless  store  on  a  rose 
and  a  lock  of  woman's  hair!  I  have  heard  of  some  who, 
dying,  have  held  such  trifles  chiefest  of  all  their  worldly 
goods,  and  have  implored  that,  whereas  their  gold  and 
household  stuff  can  be  bestowed  freely  on  him  who  first 
comes  to  claim  it,  the  faded  flower  and  senseless  tress 
may  be  laid  on  their  hearts  to  comfort  them  in  the  cold 
and  dreamless  sleep  from  which  they  shall  not  wake 
again!"  He  sighed,  and  his  eyes  darkened  into  a  deep 
and  musing  tenderness.  "Poets  there  have  been  too, 
and  are,  who  would  string  many  a  canticle  on  this  soft, 
severed  lock  and  gathered  blossom  ;  and  many  a  quaint 
conceit  could  I  myself  contrive  concerning  it,  did  I  not 
feel  more  prone  to  tears  to-day  than  minstrelsy.  Canst 
thou  believe  it,  Theos?"  and  he  forced  a  laugh,  though 
his  lashes  were  wet,  "I,  the  joyous  Sah  luma,  am  for 
once  most  truly  sad.  This  tress  of  hair  doth  seem  to 
catch  my  spirit  in  a  chain  that  binds  me  fast,  and  draws 
me  onward,  onward  to  some  mournful  end  I  may  not 
dare  to  see!" 

And  as  he  spoke  he  mechanically  wound  the  golden 
curl  round  and  about  the  stem  of  the  rosebud  in  the 
fashion  of  a  ribbon,  and  placed  the  two  entwined  to- 
gether in  his  breast.  Theos  looked  at  him  wistfully,  but 
was  silent;  he  himself  was  too  full  of  dull  and  melancholy 
misgivings  to  be  otherwise  than  sad  also.  Instinctively 
he  drew  closer  to  his  friend's  side,  and  thus  they  re- 
mained for  some  minutes,  exchanging  no  words  and  gaz- 
ing dreamily  out  on  the  luxurious  foliage  of  the  trees,  and 
rha  wealth  of  bright  blossoms  that  adorned  the  landscape 
before  them. 

"Thou  are  confident  Niphrata  will  return?"  questioned 
Theos  presently,  in  a  low  tone. 

"She  will  return,"  rejoined  Sah-luma  quietly,  "be- 
cause she  will  do  anything  for  love  of  me." 


THE    PRIEST  ZEL  339 

"For  Icve's  sake  she  may  die!"  said  Theos. 

Sah-luma  smiled. 

"Not  so,  my  friend.     For  love's  sake  she  will  livcl" 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE     PRIEST  ZEL. 

As  he  uttered  the  last  word  the  sound  of  an  approach- 
ing light  step  disturbed  the  silence.  It  was  one  of  the 
young  girls  of  the  household — a  dark,  haughty-looking 
beauty  whom  Theos  remembered  to  have  seen  in  the 
palace-hall  when  he  first  arrived,  lying  indolently  among 
cushions  and  playing  with  a  tame  bird  which  flew  to 
and  fro  at  her  beckoning.  She  advanced  now  with  an 
almost  imperial  stateliness;  her  salute  to  Sah-luma  was 
graceful,  yet  scarcely  submissive,  while  he,  turning  ea- 
gerly toward  her,  seemed  gladdened  and  relieved  at  her 
appearance,  his  face  assuming  a  gratified  expression 
like  that  of  a  child  who,  having  broken  one  toy,  is  eas- 
ily consoled  with  another. 

"Welcome,  Irenya!"  he  exclaimed  gayly.  "Thou  art 
the  very  bitter  sweetness  I  desire.  Thy  naughty  pout 
and  coldly  mutinous  eyes  are  pleasing  contrasts  to  the 
over-languid  heat  and  brightness  of  the  day!  What  news 
hast  thou,  my  sweet?  Is  there  fresh  havoc  in  the  city — 
more  deaths,  more  troublous  tidings?  Nay,  then  hold  thy 
peace,  for  thou  art  not  a  fit  messenger  of  woe;  thou'rt 
much  too  fair!" 

Irenya' s  red  lips  curled  disdainfully;  the  "naughty 
pout"  was  plainly  visible. 

"My  lord  is  pleased  to  flatter  his  slave  1"  she  said  with 
a  touch  of  scorn  in  her  musical  accents.  "Certes,  of  ill 
news  there  is  more  than  enough,  and  evil  rumors  have 
never  been  lacking  these  many  months,  as  my  lord 
would  have  known  had  he  deigned  to  listen  to  the  com- 
mon talk  of  those  who  are  not  poets  but  merely  sad  and 
suffering  men.  Nevertheless,  though  I  may  think,  I  speak 
not  at  all  of  matters  such  as  these,  and  for  my  present 
errand  'tis  but  to  say  that  a  priest  of  the  inner  temple 
waits  without,  desirous  of  instant  speech  with  the  most 
illustrious  Sah-luma," 


340  "ARDATH" 

"A  priest  of  the  inner  temple!"  echoed  the  laureate, 
wonderingly.  "By  my  faith,  a  most  unwelcome  visitor! 
What  business  can  he  have  with  me?" 

"Nay,  that  I  know  not,"  responded  Irenya  calmly. 
"He  hath  come  hither,  so  he  bade  me  say,  by  command 
of  the  Absolute  Authority." 

Sah-luma's  face  flushed  and  he  looked  annoyed.  Then, 
taking  Theos  by  the  arm,  he  turned  away  from  the  ter- 
race and  re-entered  his  apartment,  where  he  flung  him- 
self full  length  on  his  couch,  pillowing  his  handsome 
head  against  a  fold  of  glossy  leopard  skin,  which  formed 
a  most  becoming  background  for  the  soft,  dark,  oval 
beauty  of  his  features. 

'"Sit  thee  down,  my  friend,"  he  said,  glancing  smil- 
ingly at  Theos  and  signing  to  him  to  take  possession  of 
a  luxurious  lounge-chair  near  him.  "If  we  must  needs 
receive  this  sanctified  professor  of  many  hypocrisies, 
we  will  do  it  with  suitable  indifference  and  ease.  Wilt  thou 
stay  here  with  us,  Irenya?"  he  added,  stretching  out 
one  arm  and  catching  the  maiden  round  the  waist  in 
spite  of  her  attempted  resistance.  "Or  art  thou  in  a 
froward  mood,  and  wilt  thou  go  thine  own  proud  way 
without  so  much  as  a  consoling  kiss  from  Sah-luma?" 

Irenya  looked  full  at  him,  a  repressed  anger  blazing 
in  her  large  black  eyes. 

"Let  my  lord  save  his  kisses  for  those  who  value  them!" 
she  said  contemptuously.  '"Twere  pity  he  should  waste 
them  upon  me,  to  whom  they  are  unmeaning  and  therefore 
all  unwelcome!"  He  laughed  heartily,  and  instantly 
loosened  her  from  his  embrace. 

"Off,  off  with  thee,  sweet  virtue,  fairest  prude!"  he 
cried,  still  laughing.  "Live  out  thy  life  as  thou  wilt, 
empty  of  love  or  passion;  count  the  years  as  they  slip 
by,  leaving  thee  each  day  less  lovely  and  less  fit  for  pleas- 
ure; grow  old,  and  on  the  brink  of  death  look  back,  poor 
child,  and  see  the  glory  thou  hast  missed  and  left  be- 
hind thee.  The  light  of  love  and  youth  that  once  de- 
parted can  dawn  again  no  more!" 

And  lifting  himself  slightly  from  his  cushions,  he 
kissed  his  hand  playfully  to  the  girl,  who,  as  though 
suddenly  overcome  by  a  sort  of  vague  regret,  still  lin- 
gered, gazing  at  him,  while  a  faint  color  crept  through 
her  cheeks  like  the  deepening  hue  on  the  leaves  of  an 


THE   PRIEST  2EL  $4! 

opening  rose.  Sah-luma  saw  her  hesitation,  and  his 
face  grew  yet  more  radiant  with  malicious  mirth. 

"Hence,  hence,  Irenya !"  he  exclaimed.  "Escape  temp- 
tation quickly  while  thou  mayest!  Support  thy  virgin 
pride  in  peace;  thou  shalt  never  say  again  Sah-luma' s 
kisses  are  unwelcome!  The  poet's  touch  shall  never 
wrong  or  sanctify  thy  name;  thou  art  safe  from  me  as  pil- 
lared icicles  in  everlasting  snow !  Dear  little  one,  be 
happy  without  love,  if  that  be  possible ;  nevertheless, 
take  heed  thou  do  not  weakly  clamor  in  the  after  years 
for  once-rejected  joy!  Now  bid  yon  waiting  priest  at- 
tend me;  tell  him  I  can  but  spare  a  few  brief  moments' 
audience." 

Irenya's  head  drooped.  Theos  saw  tears  in  her  eyes, 
but  she  managed  to  restrain  them,  and  with  something 
of  a  defiant  air  she  made  her  formal  obeisance  and  with- 
drew. She  did  not  return  again,  but  a  page  appeared  in- 
stead, ushering  in  with  ceremonious  civility  a  tall  per- 
sonage, clad  in  flowing  white  robes  and  muffled  up  to  the 
eyes  in  a  mantle  of  silver  tissue — a  majestic,  myste- 
rious, solemn-looking  individual,  who,  pausing  on  the 
threshold  of  the  apartment,  described  a  circle  in  the  air 
with  a  small  staff  he  carried  and  said  in  monotonous 
accents : 

"By  the  going  in  and  the  passing  out  of  the  sun 
through  the  gates  of  the  East  and  the  gates  of  the  West, 
by  the  vulture  of  gold  and  white  lotus  and  the  countless 
virtues  of  Nagaya,  may  peace  dwell  in  this  house  for- 
ever !" 

"Agreed  to  with  all  my  heart!"  responded  Sah-luma, 
carelessly  looking  up  from  his  couch,  but  making  no  at- 
tempt to  rise.  "Peace  is  an  excellent  thing,  most  holy 
father!" 

"Excellent!"  returned  the  priest,  slowly  advancing  and 
undoing  his  mantle  so  that  his  face  became  fully  visible. 
"So  truly  excellent,  indeed,  that  at  times  it  is  needful  to 
make  war  in  order  to  insure  it." 

He  sat  down,  as  he  spoke,  in  a  chair  which  was  placed 
for  him  at  Sah-luma's  bidding  by  the  page  who  had 
ushered  him  in,  and  he  maintained  a  grave  silence  till 
that  young  servitor  had  departed.  Theos  meanwhile 
studied  his  countenance  with  some  curiosity;  it  was  so 
strangely  impassive,  )'et  at  the  same  time  so  full  of  dis- 


342  "ARDATH" 

tinctly  marked  intellectual  power.  The  features  were 
handsome  but  also  singularly  repulsive;  they  were  ren- 
dered to  a  certain  degree  dignified  by  a  full  dark  beard, 
which,  however,  failed  entirely  to  conceal  the  receding 
chin  and  compressed,  cruel  mouth;  the  eyes  were  keen 
and  crafty  and  very  clear;  the  forehead  was  high  and 
intelligent  and  deeply  furrowed  with  lines  that  seemed 
to  be  the  result  of  much  pondering  over  close  and  cun- 
ning calculation,  rather  than  the  marks  of  profound,  un- 
selfish, and  ennobling  thought.  The  page  having  left 
the  room,  Sah-luma  began  the  conversation: 

"To  what  unexpected  cause,  most  righteous  sir,  am  I 
indebted  for  the  honor  of  this  present  visit?  Methinks 
I  recognize  the  countenance  of  the  famous  Zel,  the  high- 
priest  of  the  sacrificial  altar;  if  so,  'tis  marvelous  so 
great  a  man  should  venture  forth  alone  and  unattended 
to  the  house  of  one  who  loves  not  priestly  company,  and 
who  hath  at  best  for  all  professors  of  religion  a  some- 
what indifferent  welcome!" 

The  priest  smiled  coldly. 

"Most  rightly  dost  thou  speak,  Sah-luma,"  he  an- 
swered, his  measured,  metallic  voice  seeming  to  strike 
a  wave  of  chilling  discord  through  the  air,  "and  most 
frankly  hast  thou  thus  declared  one  of  thy  many  defi- 
ciencies. Atheist  as  thou  art  and  to  that  manner  born, 
thou  art  in  very  deed  outside  the  pale  of  all  religious 
teaching  and  consolement;  nevertheless,  there  is  much 
gentle  mercy  shown  thec  by  the  virgin  priestess  of 
Nagaya" — here  he  solemnly  bent  his  head  and  made  the 
rapid  sign  of  a  circle  on  his  breast — "who,  knowing  thy 
great  genius,  doth  ever  strive  with  thoughtful  zeal  to 
draw  thee  closely  within  the  saving  Silver  Veil!  Yet  it 
is  possible  that  even  her  patience  with  thy  sins  may  tire  at 
last;  wherefore,  while  there  is  time  offer  due  penance  to 
the  offended  gods  and  humble  thy  stiff  heart  before  the 
holy  maid,  lest  she  expel  thee  from  her  sight  forever," 
He  paused;  a  satirical,  half-amused  smile  hovered  round 
Sah-luma' s  delicate  mouth;  his  eyes  flashed. 

"All  this  is  the  mere  common  rhetoric  of  the  temple 
craft,"  he  said  indolently,  "Why  not,  good  Zel,  give 
plainer  utterance  to  thine  errand?  We  know  each  other's 
follies  well  enough  to  spare  formalities  Lysia  has  sent 
th«e  hither — what  then?  What  says  the  beauteous  vir- 
gin to  her  willing 


THE  PRIEST   JEL  343 

\n  undertone  of  mockery  rang  through  the  languid, 
silvery  sweetness  of  his  accents,  and  the  priest  s  dark 
brows  knitted  in  an  irritated  frown. 

"Thou  art  over  flippant  of  speech,  Sah-luma!"  he  ob- 
served austerely.  "Take  heed  thou  be  not  snared  into 
misfortune  by  the  glibness  of  thy  tongue!  Thou  dost 
speak  of  the  chaste  Lysia  with  unseemly  lightness!  Learn 
to  be  reverent,  and  so  shalt  thou  be  wiser!" 

Sah-luma  laughed  and  settled  himself  more  easily  on 
his  couch,  turning  in  such  a  manner  as  to  look  the 
stately  Zel  full  in  the  face.  They  exchanged  one  glance, 
expressive  as  it  seemed  of  some  mutual  secret  under- 
standing, for  the  priest  coughed  as  though  he  were  em- 
barrassed, and  stroked  his  beard  deliberately  with  one 
hand  in  an  endeavor  to  hide  the  strange  smile  that,  de- 
spite his  efforts  to  conceal  it,  visibly  lightened  his  cold 
eyes  to  a  sudden  tigerish  brilliancy. 

"The  mission  with  which  I  am  charged,"  he  resumed 
presently,   "is  to  thee,  chief  laureate  of   the    realm,  and 
runs  as  followeth:    Whereas    thou    hast  of    late    avoided 
many  days  of  public  service  in  the  temple,  so  that  those 
among  the  people  who  admire    thee  follow    thine    ill  ex- 
ample and  absent  themselves  also  with   equal  readiness, 
the  priestess  undented,  the  noble    Lysia,  doth    to-night 
command    thy  presence  as    a    duty  not    to    be  foregone. 
Therefore,  come  thou    and    take  thy  part    in    the    great 
sacrifice,  for  these  late  tumults  and  disasters  in  the  city, 
notably  the  perplexing  downfall  of  the  obelisk.have  caused 
all  hearts  to  fail  and  sink  for  very  fear      The  river  dark- 
ens   in    its    crimson     hue    each    passing   hour;  strange 
noises    have    been    heard    athwart    the  sky    and    in  the 
deeper    underground,    and    all    these    drear,     unwonted 
things  are  so  many  cogent  reasons  why  we  should  in  sol- 
emn  unison  implore   the  favor  of   Nagaya  and  the  gods, 
whereby  further  catastrophes  may  be  perchance  averted. 
Moreover,  for  motives  of  most  urgent    state  policy    it  is 
advisable  that  all  who  hold   place,  dignity,  and   renown 
within  the  city  should  this  night  be  seen  as  fervent  sup- 
plicants before  the  sacred  shrine;    so  may  much   threat- 
ening rebellion  be    appeased  and    order  be    restored  out 
of  impending  confusion.  Such  is  the  message  I    am  bid- 
den to  convey  to  thee.     Furthermore,  I    am    required  to 
bear  back  again  to  the  high  priestess  thy  faithful  prom- 


344  "ARDATH" 

ise  that  her  orders  shall  be  surely  and  entirely  obeyed. 
Thou  art  not  wont" — and  a  pale  sneer  flitted  over  his 
features — "to  set  her  mandate  at  defiance." 

Sah-luma  bit  his  lips  angrily  and  folded  his  arms  above 
his  head  with  a  lazy  yet  impatient  movement. 

"Assuredly  I  shall  be  present  at  the  service,"  he  said 
curtly.  "There  needed  no  such  weighty  summoning! 
'Twas  my  intention  to  join  the  ranks  of  worshipers  to- 
night, though  for  myself  I  have  no  faith  in  worship. 
The  gods,  I  ween,  are  deaf,  and  care  not  a  jot  whether 
we  mortals  weep  or  sing.  Nevertheless,  I  shall  look  on 
with  fitting  gravity  and  deport  myself  with  due  deco- 
rum throughout  the  ceremonious  ritual,  though  verily  I 
tell  thee,  reverend  Zel,  'tis  tedious  and  monotonous  at 
best,  and  concerning  the  poor  maiden  sacrifice,  it  is  a 
shuddering  horror  we  could  well  dispense  with." 

"I  think  not  so,"  replied  the  priest  calmly.  "Thou, 
who  art  well  instructed  in  the  capricious  humors  of  men, 
must  surely  know  how  dearly  the  majority  of  them  love 
the  shedding  of  blood — 'tis  a  clamorous, brute  instinct  in 
them  which  must  be  satisfied.  Better,  therefore,  that 
we,  the  anointed  priests,  should  slay  one  willing  victim 
for  the  purpose  of  religion  than  that  they,  the  ignorant 
mob,  should  kill  a  thousand  to  gratify  their  lust  of  mur- 
der. An  unresentful,  all-loving  Deity  would  be  impos- 
sible of  comprehension  to  a  mutually  hating  and  malig- 
nant race  of  beings;  all  creeds  must  be  accommodated 
to  the  dispositions  of  the  million." 

"Pardon  me,"  suddenly  interrupted  Theos.  "I  am  a 
stranger,  and  in  a  great  measure  ignorant  of  this  city's 
customs,  but  I  confess  I  am  amazed  to  hear  a  priest  up- 
hold so  specious  an  argument.  What!  must  divine  re- 
ligion ba  dragged  down  from  its  pure  throne  to  pander 
to  the  selfish  passions  of  the  multitude?  Because  men 
are  vile,  must  a  vile  god  be  invented  to  suit  their  savage 
caprices?  Because  men  are  cruel,  must  the  unseen  Cre- 
ator of  things  be  delineated  as  even  more  barbarous  than 
they,  in  order  to  give  them  some  pietistical  excuse  for 
wickedness?  I  ask  these  questions  not  out  of  wanton 
curiosity,  but  for  the  sake  of  instruction." 

The  haughty  Zel  turned  upon  him  in  severe  aston- 
ishment. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "stranger  undoubtedly  thou  art,  and  so 


THE  PRIEST  ZEL  345 

bold  a  manner  of  speech  most  truly  savors  of  the  utterly 
uneducated    Western    barbarian!     All  wise  and    prudent 
governments  have  learned    that  a  god    fit  for    the  adora- 
tion of  men  must  be  depicted  as  much  like  men  as  possi- 
ble.    Any  absolutely  superhuman    attributes  are  unnec- 
essary to  the  character  of  a  useful  deity,  inasmuch  as  no 
man  ever  will  or  ever  can    understand    the  worth    of  su- 
perhuman qualities.      Humanity  is  only  capable    of  wor- 
shiping   self;    thus   it  is  necessary  that  when  people  are 
persuaded  to    pay    honor    to    an    elected    divinity,    they 
should  be  well    and    comfortably    assured  in    their    own 
minds  that  they  are  but  offering  homage  to  an    image  of 
self  placed  before  them  in  a  deified  or  heroic  form.   This 
satisfies  the  natural  idolatrous  cravings  of    egotism,    and 
this  is  all  that  priests  or    teachers  desire.      Now,  in  the 
worship  of  Nagaya  we    have    the    natures    of    man    and 
woman  conjoined;   the  snake  is  the  emblem  of  male  wis- 
dom united  with  female  subtlety,  and    the  two    essences 
mingled  in  one    make  as    near    an  approach  to  what  we 
may  imagine  the  positive  divine    capacity  as  can  be  de- 
vised on  earth  by  earthly  intelligences.      If,  on  the  other 
hand,  such  an  absurd  doctrine  as  that  formulated  in  the 
fanatic  madman  Khosrul's   'prophecy'  could  be  imagined 
as  actually  admitted  and    proclaimed    to  the    nations,  it 
would  have  very  few  followers,  and  the  sincerity  of  those 
few  might    well  be    open    to  doubt.     For    the    Deity    it 
speaks  of  is  supposed  to  be  an  immortal    God  disguised 

as  man a  God  who    voluntarily    rejects  and    sets  aside 

his  own  glory  to  serve  and  save  his  perishable  creatures. 
Thus  the  root  of  that  religion  would  consist  in  self-abne- 
gation, and  self-abnegation  is,  as  experience  proves,  ut- 
terly impossible  to  the  human  being." 

"Why  is  it  impossible?"  asked  Theos  with  a  quiver 
of  passionate  earnestness  in  his  voice.  "Are  there  none 
in  all  the  world  who  would  sacrifice  their  own  interests 
to  further  another's  welfare  and  happiness?" 
The  priest  smiled — a  delicately  derisive  smile. 
"Certainly  not!"  he  replied  blandly.  "The  very  ques- 
tion strikes  me  as  singularly  foolish,  inasmuch  as  we 
live  in  a  planet  where,  if  we  do  not  serve  ourselves  and 
look  after  our  own  personal  advantage,  we  may  as  well 
die  the  minute  we  are  born,  or  better  still,  never  be  born 
at  all.  There  is  no  one  living-— at  least,  not  in  the  wide 


346  "ARDATH" 

realm  of  Al-Kyris — who  would  put  himself  to  the  small- 
est inconvenience  for  the  sake  of  another,  were  that 
other  his  nearest  and  dearest  blood  relation.  And  in 
matters  of  love  and  friendship  'tis  the  same  as  in  bus- 
iness: each  man  eagerly  pursues  his  own  chance  of  en- 
joyment. Even  when  he  loves,  or  fancies  he  loves,  a 
woman,  it  is  solely  because  her  beauty  or  attractiveness 
gives  him  temporary  pleasure,  not  because  he  has  any 
tenderness  or  after-regard  for  the  nature  of  her  feelings. 
How  can  it  be  otherwise?  We  elect  friends  that  are 
useful  to  us  personally;  we  care  little  for  their  intrinsic 
merit,  and  we  only  tolerate  them  as  long  as  they  hap 
pen  to  suit  our  taste.  For  generally  on  the  first  occa- 
sion of  a  disagreement  or  difference  of  opinion  we  shake 
ourselves  free  of  them  without  either  regret  or  remorse, 
and  seek  others  who  will  be  meek  enough  not  to  offer 
us  any  open  contradiction.  It  is  and  it  must  be  always 
so;  self  is  the  first  person  we  are  bound  to  consider,  and 
all  religions,  if  they  are  intended  to  last,  must  prudently 
recognize  and  silently  acquiesce  in  this,  the  chief  dogma 
of  man's  constitution." 

Sah-luma  laughed.  "Excellently  argued,  most  politic 
Zel!"  he  exclaimed.  "Yet  methinks  it  is  easy  to  worship 
self  without  either  consecrated  altars  or  priestly  assist- 
ance!" 

"Thou  shouldst  know  better  than  any  one  with  what 
facility  such  devotion  can  be  practiced!"  returned  Zel 
ironcially,  rising  as  he  spoke,  and  beginning  to  wrap 
his  mantle  round  him  preparatory  to  departure.  "Thou 
hast  a  wider  range  of  perpetual  adoration  than  most 
man,  seeing  thou  dost  so  fully  estimate  the  value  of  thine. 
own  genius!  Some  heretics  there  are  in  the  city  who 
say  thy  merit  is  but  a  trick  of  song  shared  by  thee  in 
common  with  the  birds,  who  truly  seem  to  take  no  pride 
in  the  particular  sweetness  of  their  unsyllabled  language, 
but  thou  thyself  art  better  instructed,  and  who  shall 
blame  thee  for  the  veneration  with  which  thou  dost  daily 
contemplate  thine  own  intellectual  powers?  Not  I, 
believe  me!"  And  his  crafty  eyes  glittered  mockingly  as 
he  arranged  his  silver  gauze  muffler  so  that  it  entirely 
veiled  the  lower  part  of  his  features.  "And  though  I 
do  somewhat  regret  to  learn  that  thou,  among  other  no- 
blemen of  fashion,  hast  of  late  taken  part  in  the  atheist- 


THE  PRIEST  ZEL  347 

ical  discussions  encouraged  by  the  positivist  school  of 
thought,  still,  as  a  priest,  my  duty  is  not  so  much  to 
reproach  as  to  call  thee  to  repentance.  Therefore  I  in- 
wardly rejoice  to  know  thou  wilt  present  thyself  before 
the  shrine  to-night,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  custom — " 

"'Only'  for  the  saice  of  custom!"  repeated  Sah-luma 
amusedly.  "Nay,  good  Zel,  custom  should  be  surely 
classified  as  an  exceeding  powerful  god,  inasmuch  as  it 
rules  all  things,  from  the  cut  of  our  clothes  to  the  form 
of  our  creeds!" 

"True!"  replied  Zel  imperturbably.  "And  he  who 
despises  custom  becomes  an  alien  from  his  kind — a  moral 
leper  among  the  pure  and  clean." 

"Oh,  say  rather  a  lion  among  sheep,  a  giant  among 
pygmies!"  laughed  the  laureate.  "For,  by  my  soul!  a  man 
who  had  the  courage  to  scorn  custom  and  set  the  small 
hypocrisies  of  society  at  defiance  would  be  a  glorious 
hero — a  warrior  of  strange  integrity  whom  it  would  be 
well  worth  traveling  miles  to  see!" 

"Khosrul  was  such  an  one!"  interposed  Theos  sud- 
denly. 

"Tush,  man!     Khosrul  was  mad!"  retorted  Sah-luma. 

"Are  not  all  men  thought  mad  who  speak  the  truth?" 
queried  Theos  gently. 

The  priest  Zel  looked  at  him  with  proud  and  supercil- 
ious eyes. 

"Thou  hast  strange  notions  for  one  still  young,"  he 
said.  "What  art  thou — a  new  disciple  of  the  mystics  or 
a  student  of  the  positive  doctrines?" 

,  Theos  met  his  keen  gaze  unflinchingly.  "What  am 
I?"  he  murmured  sadly,  and  his  voice  trembled.  "Rev- 
erend priest,  I  am  nothing.  Great  are  the  sufferings  of 
men  who  have  lost  their  wealth,  their  home,  their  friends, 
but  I — I  have  lost  myself!  Were  I  anything,  could  I 
ever  hope  to  be  anything,  I  would  pray  to  be  accepted 
a  servant  of  the  cross — that  far-off,  unknown  faith  to 
which  my  tired  spirit  clings!" 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  he  raised  his  eyes.  How 
dim  and  misty  at  the  moment  seemed  the  tall  white  fig- 
ure of  the  majestic  Zel!  And  in  contrast  to  it,  how  brill- 
iantly distinct  Sah-luma's  radiant  face  appeared,  turned 
toward  him  in  inquiring  wonderment!  He  felt  a  swoon- 
ing dizziness  upon  him,  but  the  sensation  swiftly  passed, 


348         >  "ARDATH" 

and  he  saw  the   haughty   priest's   dark    brows  bent  in  a 
frown  of  ominous  disapproval. 

'"Tis  well  thou  art  not  a  citizen  of  Al-Kyris,"  he  said 
scornfully.  "To  strangers  we  accord  a  certain  license 
of  opinion,  but  if  thou  wert  a  native  of  these  realms  thy 
speech  would  cost  thee  dear!  As  it  is,  I  warn  thee! 
Dare  not  to  make  public  mention  of  the  cross — the 
accursed  emblem  of  the  dead  Khosrul's  idolatry ;  guard 
thy  tongue  heedfully;  and  thou,  Sah-luma,  if  thou  dost 
bring  this  rashling  with  thee  to  the  temple,  thou  must 
take  upon  thyself  all  measures  for  his  safety.  For  in 
these  days  some  words  are  like  firebrands,  and  he  who 
casts  them  forth  incautiously  may  kindle  flames  that 
only  the  forfeit  of  his  life  can  quench!" 

There  was  a  quiver  of  suppressed  fury  in  his  tone,  and 
Sah-luma  lifted  his  lazy  lids  and  looked  at  him  with  an 
air  of  tranquil  indifference. 

"Prithee,  trouble  not  thyself,  most  eminent  Zel!"  he 
answered  nonchalantly.  "I  will  answer  for  my  friend's 
discretion.  Thou  dost  mistake  his  temperament;  he  is 
a  budding  poet,  and  utters  many  a  disconnected  thought 
which  hath  no  meaning  save  to  his  own  fancy-swarming 
brain;  he  saw  the  fanatic  Khosrul  die,  and  the  picture 
hath  impressed  him  for  the  moment — nothing  more!  I 
pledge  my  word  for  his  demurest  prudence  at  the  service 
to-night;  I  would  not  have  him  absent  for  the  world. 
'Twere  pity  he  should  miss  the  splendor  of  a  scene  which 
doubtless  hath  been  admirably  contrived,  by  priestly  art 
and  skill,  to  play  upon  the  passions  of  the  multitude. 
Tell  me,  good  Zel,  what  is  the  name  of  the  self-offered 
victim?" 

The  priest  flashed  a  strangely  malevolent  glance  at 
him. 

"Tis  not  to  be  divulged,"  he  replied  curtly.  "The 
virgin  is  no  longer  counted  among  the  living — she  is  as 
one  already  departed;  the  name  she  bore  hath  been 
erased  from  the  city  registers,  and  she  wears  instead  the 
prouder  title  of  'Bride  of  the  Sun  and  Nagaya.'  Re- 
strain thy  curiosity  until  night  hath  fallen:  it  m?\y  be 
that  thou,  who  hast  a  wide  acquaintance  among  fair 
maideas,  wilt  recognize  her  countenance." 

"Nay,  I  trust  1  know  her  not,"  said  Sah-luma  care- 
lessly. "For  though  all  women  die  for  me  when  once 


THE   PRIEST  ZEL  349 

their  beauty  fades,  still  am  I  loath  to  see  them  perish 
ere  their  prime." 

"Yet  many  are  doomed  to  perish  so,"  rejoined  the 
priest  impassively,  "men  as  well  as  women,  and  me- 
thinks  those  who  are  best  beloved  of  the  gods  are  chosen 
first  to  die.  Death  is  not  difficult,  but  to  live  long  enough 
tor  life  to  lose  all  savor,and  love  all  charm,  this  is  a  bitter- 
ness that  comes  with  years  and  cannot  be  consoled" 

And  retreating  slowly  toward  the  door,  he  paused,  as 
he  had  previously  done,  on  the  threshold. 

"Farewell,  Sah-luma, "  he  said.  'Beware  that  noth- 
ing hinders  thee  from  the  fulfillment  of  thy  promise, 
and  let  thy  homage  to  the  holy  maid  be  reverent  at  the 
parting  of  the  silver  veil!" 

He  waited,  but  Sah-luma  made  no  answer;  he  there- 
fore raised  his  staff  and  described  a  circle  with  it  in  the 
same  solemn  fashion  that  had  distinguished  his  entrance. 

"By  the  coming  forth  of  the  moon  through  the  ways 
of  darkness,  by  the  shining  of  stars,  by  the  sleeping  sun 
and  the  silence  of  night,  by  the  all-seeing  eye  of  Raphon 
and  the  wisdom  of  Nagaya,  may  the  protection  of  the 
gods  abide  in  this  house  forever!" 

As  he  pronounced  these  words  he  noiselessly  departed 
without  any  salutation  whatever  to  Sah-luma,  who  heaved 
a  sigh  of  relief  when  he  had  gone,  and,  rising  from  his 
couch,  came  and  placed  one  hand  affectionately  on 
Theos'  shoulder. 

"Thou  foolish, yet  dear  comrade!"  he  murmured.  "What 
moves  thee  to  blurt  forth  such  strange  and  unwarranta- 
ble sayings?  Why  wouldst  thou  pray  to  be  a  servant  of 
the  cross,  or  why,  at  any  rate,  if  thou  hast  taken  a  fancy 
for  the  dead  Khosrul's  new  doctrine,  wert  thou  so  rash 
as  to  proclaim  thy  sentiment  to  yon  unprincipled,  blood- 
thirsty Zel,  who  would  not  scruple  to  poison  the  king 
himself  if  his  majesty  gave  sufficient  cause  of  offense? 
Dost  thou  desire  to  be  straightway  slain?  Nay,  I  will 
not  have  thee  run  tnus  furiously  into  danger;  thou  wilt 
be  offered  the  silver  nectar  like  Nir-jalis,  and  not  even 
the  intercession  of  my  friendship  would  avail  to  save  thee 
then!" 

Theos  smiled  rather  sadly. 

"And  thus  would  end  forever  my  mistakes  and  follies," 
he  answered  softly.  "And  I  should  perchance  discover 


350  "ARDATH" 

the  small  hidden  secret  of  things — the  little,  simple,  un- 
guessed  clew  that  would  unravel  the  mystery  and  mean- 
ing of  existence!  For  can  it  be  that  the  majestic  mar- 
vel of  created  nature  is  purposeless  in  its  design — that 
we  are  doomad  to  think  thoughts  which  can  never  be 
realizsd;  to  dream  dreams  that  perish  in  the  dreaming; 
to  build  up  hopes  without  foundation;  to  call  upon  God 
when  there  is  no  God;  to  long  for  heaven  when  there  is 
no  heaven?  Ah!  no,  Sah-luma;  surely  we  are  not  the 
msre  fools  and  dupes  of  time;  surely  there  is  some 
eternal  beyond  which  is  not  annihilation — some  greater, 
vaster  sphere  of  soul-development  where  we  shall  find 
all  that  we  have  missed  on  earth!" 

Sah-luma's  face  clouded  and  a  sigh  escaped  him. 

"I  would  my  thoughts  were  similar  to  thine!"  he  said 
sorrowfully.  "1  would  I  could  believe  in  an  immortal 
destiny,  but,  alas!  my  friend,  there  is  no  shadow  of 
ground  for  such  a  happy  faith — none  either  in  sense  or 
science.  I  have  reflected  on  it  many  a  time  till  I  have 
wearied  myself  with  mournful  musing,  and  the  end  of 
all  my  meditation  has  been  a  useless  protest  against  the 
great  inevitable — a  clamor  of  disdain  hurled  at  the  huge, 
blind,  indifferent  force  that  poisons  the  deep  sea  of  space 
with  an  ever-productive  spawn  of  wasted  life!  Anon  I 
have  flouted  my  own  despair,  and  have  consoled  myself 
with  the  old  wise  maxim  that  was  found  inscribed  on  the 
status  of  a  smiling  god  some  centuries  ago,  'Enjoy  your 
lives,  ye  passing  tribes  of  men;  take  pleasure  in  folly, 
for  this  is  the  only  wisdom  that  avails!  Happy  is  he 
whose  days  are  filled  with  the  delight  of  love  and  laugh- 
ter, for  there  is  nothing  better  found  on  earth,  and  what- 
ever ye  do,  whether  wise  or  foolish,  the  same  end  comes 
to  all!'  Is  not  this  true  philosophy,  my  Theos?  What 
can  a  man  do  better  than  enjoyl" 

"Much  depends  on  the  particular  form  of  enjoyment," 
responded  Theos  thoughtfully.  "Some  there  are,  for 
example,  who  might  find  their  greatest  satisfaction  in 
the  pleasures  of  the  table,  others  in  the  gratification  of 
sensual  desires  and  gross  appetites;  are  these  to  be  left 
to  follow  their  own  devices,  without  any  effort  being 
made  to  raise  them  from  the  brute  level  where  they  lie?" 

"Why,  in  the  name  of  all  the  gods,  should  they  be 
raised?"  demanded  Sah-luma  impatiently.  "If  their 


THE  PRIEST  ZEL  351 

choice  is  to  grovel  in  mire,  why  ask  them  to  dwell  in  a 
palace?     They  would  not  appreciate  the  change!" 

"Again,"  went  on  Theos,  "there  are  others  who  are 
only  happy  in  the  pursuit  of  wisdom,  and  the  more  they 
learn  the  more  they  seek  to  know.  One  wonders— one 
cannot  help  wondering — are  their  aspirations  all  in  vain, 
and  will  the  grave  seal  down  their  hopes  forever?" 
Sah-luma  paused  a  moment  before  replying. 
"It  seems  so,"  he  said  at  last,  slowly  and  hesitatingly. 
"And  herein  I  find  the  injustice  of  the  matter,  because 
however  great  may  be  the  imagination  and  fervor  of  a 
poet,  for  instance,  he  never  is  able  wholly  to  utter  his 
thoughts.  Half  of  them  remain  in  embryo,  like  buds  of 
flowers  that  never  come  to  bloom;  yet  they  are  there, 
burning  in  the  brain  and  seeming  too  vast  of  conception 
to  syllable  themselves  into  the  common  speech  of  mor- 
tals! I  have  often  marveled  why  such  ideas  suggest 
themselves  at  all,  as  they  can  neither  be  written  nor 
spoken,  unless" — and  here  his  voice  sank  into  a  dreamy 
softness — "unless,  indeed,  they  are  to  be  received  as  hints 
— foreshadowings — of  greater  works  destined  for  our  ac- 
complishment hereafter!" 

He  was  silent  a  minute's  space,  and  Theos,  watching 
him  wistfully,  suddenly  asked: 

"Wouldst  thou  be  willing  to  live  again,  Sah-luma,  if 
such  a  thing  could  be?" 

"Friend,  I  would  rather  never  die!"  responded  the 
laureate,  half-playfully,  half-seriously.  "But  if  I  were 
certain  that  death  was  no  more  than  a  sleep,  from  which 
I  should  assuredly  awaken  to  another  phase  of  existence, 
I  know  well  enough  what  I  would  do!" 

"What?"  questioned  Theos,  his  heart  beginning  to  beat 
with  an  almost  insufferable  anxiety. 

"I  would  live  a  different  life  now\"  answered  Sah-luma 
steadily,  looking  his  companion  full  in  the  eyes  as  he 
spoke,  while  a  grave  smile  shadowed  rather  than  light- 
ened his  features.  "I  would  begin  at  once,  so  that  when 
the  new  future  dawned  for  me  I  might  not  be  haunted 
or  tortured  by  the  remembrance  of  a  misspent  pastl 
For  if  we  are  to  believe  in  any  everlasting  things  at  all, 
we  cannot  shut  out  the  fatal  everlastingness  of  memory!" 
His  words  sounded  unlike  himself;  his  voice  was  as 
the  Yoice  of  some  reproving  angel  speaking,  and  Theos, 


352  "AH.OATH" 

listening,  shuddered,  he  knew  not  wby,  and  held  his 
peace. 

"Never  to  be  able  to  forget\"  continued  Sah-luma  in 
the  same  grave,  sweet  tone,  "never  to  lose  sight  of 
one's  own  by-gone  wilful  sins — this  would  be  an  immor- 
tal destiny  too  terrible  to  endure!  For  then  inexorable 
retrospection  would  forever  show  us  where  we  had  missed 
the  way  and  how  we  had  failed  to  use  the  chances  given 
us.  Moreover,  we  might  haply  find  ourselves  surround- 
ed"— and  his  accents  grew  slower  and  more  emphatic — 
"by  strange  phantoms  of  our  own  creating,  who  would 
act  anew  the  drama  of  our  obstinate  past  follies,  per- 
plexing us  thereby  into  an  anguish  greater  than  mortal 
fancy  can  depict.  Thus,  if  we  indeed  possessed  the  pos- 
itive foreknowledge  of  the  eternal  regeneration  of  our 
lives,  'twould  be  well  to  free  them  from  all  hindrance  to 
perfection  here — here,  while  we  are  still  conscious  of 
time  and  opportunity."  He  paused,  then  went  on  in 
his  customary  gay  manner:  "But  fortunately  we  are  not 
positive,  nothing  is  certain,  no  truth  is  so  satisfactorily 
demonstrated  that  some  wiseacre  cannot  be  found  to  dis- 
prove it;  hence,  it  happens,  my  friend,"  and  his  face 
assumed  its  wonted  Careless  expression,  "that  we  men 
whose  common  sense  is  offended  by  priestly  hypocrisy 
and  occult  necromantic  jugglery;  we,  who  perhaps  in  our 
innermost  heart  of  hearts  ardently  desire  to  believe  in 
a  supreme  Divinity  and  the  grandly  progressive,  sublime 
intention  of  the  universe,  but  who,  discovering  naught 
but  ignoble  cant  and  imposture  everywhere,  are  inconti- 
nently thrown  back  on  our  own  resources — hence,  it 
comes,  I  say,  that  we  are  satisfied  to  accept  ourselves, 
each  man  in  his  own  personality,  as  the  beginning  and 
end  of  existence,  and  to  minister  to  that  absolute  self 
which  after  all  concerns  us  most,  and  which  will  continue 
to  engage  our  best  service  until — well,  until  history  can 
show  us  a  perfectly  selfless  example,  which,  if  human 
nature  remains  consistent  with  its  own  traditions,  will 
assuredly  never  be!" 

This  was  almost  more  than  Theos  could  bear;  there 
was  a  tightening  agony  at  his  heart  that  made  him  long 
to  cry  out,  to  weep,  or  better  still,  to  fling  himself  on 
his  knees  and  pray — pray  to  that  far-removed  mild  Pres- 
ence, that  "selfless  Example,"  who,  he  knew,  had  hal- 


THE  PRIEST  ZEL  353 

lowed  and  dignified  the  world,  and  yet  whose  holy  and 
beloved  name  he,  miserable  sinner,  was  unworthy  to  even 
remember  !  His  suffering  at  the  moment  was  so  intense 
that  he  fancied  some  reflection  of  it  must  be  visible  in 
his  face.  Sah-luma,  however,  apparently  saw  nothing; 
he  stepped  across  the  room,  and  out  to  the  vine-shaded 
loggia,  where  he  turned  and  beckoned  his  companion  to 
his  side. 

"Come!1  he  said,  pushing  his  hair  oft  his  brows  with 
a  languid  gesture.  "The  afternoon  wears  onward,  and 
the  very  heavens  seem  to  smoke  with  heat;  let  us  seek 
cooler  air  beneath  the  shade  of  yonder  cypresses,  whose 
dark  green  boughs  shut  out  the  glaring  sky.  We'll  talk 
of  love  and  poesy  and  tender  things  till  sunset;  I  will 
recite  to  thee  a  ballad  of  mine  that  Niphrata  loved;  'tis 
called  'An  Idyl  of  Roses,'  and  it  will  lighten  this  hot  and 
heavy  silence,  when  even  birds  sleep,  and  butterflies 
drowse  in  the  hollowed  shelter  of  the  arum-leaves.  Come, 
wilt  thou?  To-night  perchance  we  shall  have  little  time 
for  pleasant  discourse!" 

As  he  spoke,  Theos  obediently  went  toward  him  with 
the  dazed  sensations  of  one  under  the  influence  of  mes- 
merism; the  dazzling  face  and  luminous  eyes  of  the  lau- 
reate exercised  over  him  an  indescribable  yet  resistless 
authority,  and  it  was  certain  that  wherever  Sah-luma  led 
the  way  he  was  bound  to  follow.  Only  as  he  mechan- 
ically descended  from  the  terrace  into  the  garden,  and 
linked  his  arm  within  that  of  his  companion,  he  was 
conscious  of  a  vague  feeling  of  pity  for  himself — pity  that 
he  should  have  dwindled  into  such  a  nonentity,  when 
Sah-luma  was  so  renowned  a  celebrity;  pity,  too,  that  he 
should  have  somehow  never  been  able  to  devise  anything 
original  in  the  art  of  poetry! 

This  last  was  evident,  for  he  knew  already  that  the 
'Idyl  of  Roses"  Sah-luma  proposed  reciting  could  be  no 
other  than  what  he  had  fancied  was  /u's"ldy\  of  Roses" — 
a  poem  he  had  composed,  or  rather  plagiarized  in  some 
mysterious  fashion  before  he  had  even  dreamed  of  the 
design  of  "Nourhalma. "  However,  he  had  become  in 
part  resigned  to  the  peculiar  position  he  occupied;  he 
was  just  a  little  sorry  for  himself,  and  that  was  all.  Even 
as  the  parted  spirit  of  a  dead  man  might  hover  ruthfully 
above  the  grave  of  its  perished  mortal  body,  so  he  com- 


354  "ARDATH" 

passionated  his  own  forlorn  estate,  and  heaved  a  passing 
sigh  of  regret,  not  only  for  all  he  once  had  been,  but  also 
for  all  he  could  never  be\ 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IN  THE  TEMPLE     OF   NAGAYA. 

THE  hours  wore  on  with  stealthy  rapidity,  but  the  two 
friends,  reclining  together  under  a  deep-branched  can- 
opy of  cypress  boughs,  paid  little  or  no  heed  to  the  flight 
of  time.  The  heat  in  the  garden  was  intense;  the  grass 
was  dry  and  brittle  as  though  it  had  been  scorched  by 
passing  flames,  and  a  singularly  profound  stillness 
reigned  everywhere,  there  being  no  wind  to  stir  the  faint- 
est rustle  among  the  foliage.  Lying  lazily  upon  his 
back,  with  his  arms  clasped  above  his  head,  Theos  looked 
dreamily  up  at  the  patches  of  blue  sky  seen  between  the 
dark  green  gnarled  stems,  and  listened  to  the  measured 
cadence  of  the  laureate's  mellow  voice  as  he  recited  with 
much  tenderness  the  promised  poem. 

Of  course  it  was  perfectly  familiar;  the  lines  were  pre- 
cisely the  same  as  those  which  he,  Theos,  remembered 
to  have  written  out,  thinking  them  his  own,  in  an  old 
manuscript  book  he  had  left  at  home.  "At  home!" 
Where  was  that?  It  must  be  a  very  long  way  off!  He 
half  closed  his  eyes,  a  sense  of  delightful  drowsiness 
was  upon  him;  the  rise  and  fall  of  his  friend's  rhythmic 
utterance  soothed  him  into  a  languid  peace;  the  "Idyl 
of  Roses"  was  very  sweet  and  musical,  and  though  he 
knew  it  of  old,  he  heard  it  now  with  special  satisfaction, 
inasmuch  as,  it  being  no  longer  his,  he  was  at  liberty  to 
bestow  upon  it  that  full  measure  of  admiration  which  he 
felt  it  deserved. 

Yet  every  now  and  then  his  thoughts  wandered,  and 
though  he  anxiously  strove  to  concentrate  his  attention 
on  the  lovely  stanzas  that  murmured  past  his  ears  like 
the  gentle  sound  of  waves  flewed  beneath  the  mesmerism 
of  the  moon,  his  brain  was  in  a  continual  state  of  fer- 
ment, and  busied  itself  with  all  manner  of  vague  sugges 
tions  to  which  he  could  give  no  name. 


IN  THE  TEMPLE  OF  NAGAYA  355 

A  great  weariness  weighed  down  his  spirit — a  dim  con- 
sciousness of  the  futility  of  all  ambition  and  all  endeav- 
or; he  was  haunted,  too,  by  the  sharp  hiss  of  Lysia's 
voice  when  she  had  said:  "Kill  Sah-luma\'  Her  look, 
her  attitude,  her  murderous  smile,  troubled  his  memory 
and  made  him  ill  at  ease;  the  thing  she  had  thus  de- 
manded at  his  hands  seemed  more  monstrous  than  if 
she  had  bidden  him  kill  himself!  For  there  had  been 
one  moment,  when,  mastered  by  her  beauty  and  the 
force  of  his  own  passion,  he  would  have  killed  himself 
had  she  requested  it,  but  to  kill  his  adored,  his  beloved 
friend — ah,  no!  not  for  a  thousand  sorceress  queens  as 
fair  as  she! 

He  drew  a  long  breath;  an  irresistible  desire  for  rest 
came  over  him  ;  the  air  was  heavy  and  warm  and  frag- 
rant; his  companion's  dulcet  accents  served  as  a  lullaby 
to  his  tired  mind.  It  seemed  a  long  time  since  he  had 
enjoyed  a  pleasant  slumber,  for  on  the  previous  night 
he  had  not  slept  at  all.  Lower  and  lower  drooped  his 
aching  lids  ;  he  was  almost  beginning  to  slip  away-lowly 
into  a  blissful  consciousness — when,  all  at  once,  Sah- 
luma  ceased  reciting,  and  a  harsh  brazen  clang  of  bells 
echoed  through  the  silence,  storming  to  and  fro  with  a 
violent,  hurried  uproar, suggestive  of  some  sudden  alarm. 
He  sprang  to  his  feet,  rubbing  his  eyes;  Sah-luma  rose 
also,  a  slightly  petulant  expression  on  his  face. 

"Canst  thou  do  no  better  than  sleep,"  he  queried  com- 
plainingly,  "when  thou  art  privileged  to  listen  to  an 
immortal  poem?" 

Impulsively  Theos  caught  his  hand  and  pressed  it  fer- 
vently. 

"Nay,  dost  thou  deem  me  so  indifferent,  my  noble 
friend?  he  cried.  "Thou  art  mistaken,  for  though  per- 
chance mine  eyes  were  closed,  my  ears  were  open;  I 
heard  thy  every  word,  I  loved  thy  every  line!  What 
dost  thou  need  of  praise,  thou  who  canst  do  naught  but 
work  which,  being  perfect,  is  beyond  all  criticism!" 

Sah-luma  smiled,  well  satisfied,  and  the  little  lines  of 
threatening  ill-humor  vanished  from  his  countenance. 

"Enough!"  he  said.  "I  know  that  thou  dost  truly 
honor  me  above  all  poets,  and  that  thou  wouldst  not  will- 
ingly offend.  Hearest  thou  how  great  a  clamor  the  ringers 
of  the  temple  make  to-night?  'Tisbut  the  sunset  chime, 


356  "ARDATH" 

yet  one  would  think  they  were   pealing   forth  an    angrv 
summons  to  battle." 

"Already  sunset!"  exclaimed  Theos,  surprised.  "Why, 
it  seems  scarcely  a  minute  since,  that  we  came 
hither!" 

"Ay!  such  is  the  magic  charm  of  poesy!"  rejoined 
Sah-luma  complacently.  "It  makes  the  hours  flit  like 
moments,  and  long  days  seem  but  short  hours!  Never- 
theless, 'tis  time  we  were  within  doors  and  at  supper, 
for  if  we  start  not  soon  for  the  temple,  'twill  be  difficult 
to  gain  an  entrance,  and  I,  at  any  rate,  must  be  early  in 
my  place  beside  the  king." 

He  heaved  a  short,  impatient  sigh,  and  as  he  spoke, 
all  Theos'  misgivings  came  rushing  back  upon  him  in 
full  force,  filling  him  with  vague  sorrow,  uneasiness,  and 
fear.  But  he  knew  how  useless  it  was  to  try  and  impart 
any  of  his  inward  forebodings  to  Sah-luma — Sah-luma, 
who  had  so  lightly  explained  Lysia's  treacherous  conduct 
to  his  own  entire  satisfaction;  Sah-luma,  on  whom  neither 
the  prophecies  of  Khosrul  nor  the  various  disastrous 
events  of  the  day  had  taken  any  permanent  effect,  while 
no  attempt  could  now  be  made  to  deter  him  from  at- 
tending the  sacrificial  service  in  the  temple,  seeing  he 
had  been  so  positively  commanded  thither  by  Lysia, 
through  the  medium  of  the  priest  Zel. 

Feeling  bitterly  his  own  incompetency  to  exercise  any 
protective  influence  on  the  fate  of  his  companion,  Theos 
said  nothing,  but  silently  followed  him  as  he  thrust 
aside  the  drooping  cypress  boughs,  and  made  his  way 
out  to  more  open  ground;  his  lithe,  graceful  figure  look- 
ing even  more  brilliant  and  phantom-like  than  ever, 
contrasted  with  the  deep  green  gloom  spread  about  him 
by  the  hoary,  moss-covered  trees  that  were  as  twisted  and 
grotesque  in  shape  as  a  group  of  fetich  idols.  As  he  bent 
back  the  last  branchy  barrier,  however,  and  stepped  into 
the  full  light,  he  stopped  short,  and  uttering  a  loud  ex- 
clamation, lifted  his  hand  and  pointed  westward,  his  dark 
eyes  dilating  with  amazement  and  awe. 

Theos  at  once  came  swiftly  up  beside  him,  and  looked 
where  he  looked;  what  a  scene  of  terrific  splendor  he 
beheld!  Right  across  the  horizon,  that  glistened  with 
a  pale  green  hue  like  newly  frozen  water,  a  cloud,  black 
as  the  blackest  midnight,  lay  heavy  and  motionless,  in 


IN  THE  TEMPLE  OF  NAGAYA  357 

lorra  resembling  an  enormous  leaf    fringed  at    the  edges 
with  tremulous  lines  of  gold. 

This  nebulous  mass  was  absolutely  stirless ;  it  ap- 
peared as  though  it  had  been  thrown,  a  ponderous  weight, 
into  the  vault  of  heaven,  and  having  fallen,  there  pur- 
posed to  remain.  Ever  and  anon  beamy  threads  of 
lightning  played  through  it  luridly,  veining  it  with  long, 
arrowy  flashes  of  orange  and  silver,  while,  poised  imme- 
diately above  it  was  the  sun,  looking  like  a  dull  scarlet 
seal — a  ball  of  dim  fire  destitute  of  rays. 

On  all  sides  the  sky  was  crossed  by  wavy  flecks  of 
pearl  and  sudden  glimpses  as  of  burning  topaz,  and 
down  toward  the  earth  drooped  a  thin  azure  fog — a  filmy 
curtain,  through  which  the  landscape  took  the  strangest 
tints  and  unearthly  flushes  of  color.  A  moment,  and 
the  spectral  sun  drooped  suddenly  to  the  lower  dark- 
ness, leaving  behind  it  a  glare  of  gold  and  green;  low- 
ering purple  shadows  crept  across  the  heavens,  darken- 
ing them  as  smoke  darkens  flame,  but  the  huge  cloud, 
palpitating  with  lightning,  moved  not  at  all  nor  changed 
its  shape  so  much  as  a  hair's  breadth;  it  appeared  like 
a  vast  pall  spread  out  in  readiness  for  the  solemn  state- 
burial  of  the  world. 

Fascinated  by  the  aspect  of  the  weird  sky-phenome- 
non, Theos  was  at  the  same  time  curiously  impressed 
by  a  sense  of  its  unreality;  indeed,  he  found  himself 
considering  it  with  the  calm  attentiveness  of  one  who  is 
brought  face  to  face  with  a  remarkable  picture  effectively 
painted.  This  peculiar  sensation,  however,  was,  like 
many  others  of  his  experience,  very  transitory;  it  passed, 
and  he  watched  the  lightnings  come  and  go  with  a  cer- 
tain hesitating  fear,  mingled  with  wonder.  Sah-luma 
was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Storm  at  last!"  he  said,  forcing  a  smile,  though  his 
face  was  unusually  pale.  "It  has  threatened  us  all  day; 
'twill  break  before  the  night  is  over.  How  sullenly 
yonder  heavens  frown!  They  have  quenched  the  sun  in 
their  sable  darkness  as  though  he  were  a  beaten  foe! 
This  will  seem  an  ill  sign  to  those  who  worship  him  as 
a  god,  for  truly  he  doth  appear  to  have  withdrawn  him- 
self in  hate  and  anger.  By  my  soul!  'tis  a  dull  and  omi- 
nous eve!"  and  a  slight  shudder  ran  through  his  delicate 
frame,  as  he  turned  toward  the  white  pillared  loggia 


358  "ARDATH" 

garlanded  with  its  climbing  vines,  roses,  and  passion- 
flowers, through  which  there  now  floated  a  dim,  golden, 
suffused  radiance  reflected  from  lamps  lit  within.  "1 
would  the  night  were  past,  and  that  the  new  day  had 
come!" 

With  these  words  he  entered  the  house,  Theos  accom- 
panying him,  and  together  they  went  at  once  to  the  ban- 
queting hall.  There  they  supped  royally,  served  by  si- 
lent and  attentive  slaves;  they  themselves,  feeling  mu- 
tually depressed,  yet  apparently  not  wishing  to  communi- 
cate their  depression  one  to  the  other,  conversed  but 
little.  After  the  repast  was  finished,  they  set  forth  on 
foot  to  the  temple,  Sah-luma  informing  his  companion 
as  they  went,  that  it  was  against  the  law  to  use  any 
chariot  or  other  sort  of  conveyance  to  go  to  the  place  of 
worship,  the  king  himself  being  obliged  to  dispense  with 
his  sumptuous  car  on  such  occasions,  and  to  walk  thither 
as  unostentatiously  as  any  one  of  his  poorest  subjects. 

"An  excellent  rule, "  observed  Theos  reflectively.  "For 
the  pomp  and  glitter  of  an  earthly  potentate's  display 
assorts  ill  with  the  homage  he  intends  to  offer  to  the  im- 
mortals, and  kings  are  no  more  than  commoners  in  the 
light  of  an  all  supreme  Divinity." 

"True,  if  there  were  an  all-supreme  Divinity!"  rejoined 
Sah-luma  diyly.  "But  in  their  present  state  of  well 
founded  doubt  regarding  the  existence  of  any  such  omnip- 
otent personage,  thinkest  thou  there  is  a  monarch  liv- 
ing who  is  sincerely  willing  to  admit  the  possibility  of 
any  power  superior  to  himself?  Not  Zephoranim,  be- 
lieve me;  his  enforced  humility  on  all  occasions  of  pub- 
lic religious  observances  serves  him  merely  as  a  new 
channel  wherein  to  proclaim  his  pride.  Certes,  in  obe- 
dience to  the  priests,  or  rather,  let  us  say,  in  obedience 
to  the  high-priestess,  he  paces  the  common  foot-path 
in  company  with  the  common  folk,  uncrowned  and  simply 
clad;  but  what  avails  this  affectation  of  meekness?  All 
know  him  for  the  king;  all  make  servile  way  for  him ; 
all  flatter  him;  and  his  progress  to  the  temple  resembles 
as  much  a  triumphal  procession  as  though  he  were 
mounted  in  his  chariot  and  returning  from  some  wondrous 
victory.  Besides,  humility,  in  my  opinion,  is  more  a 
weakness  than  a  virtue;  and  even  granting  it  were  a  vir- 
tue/ it  is  not  possible  to  kings,  not  as  long  as  people 


OX  THE  TEMPLE  OF  NAGAYA  359 

continue  to  fawn  on  royalty  like   groveling  curs  and  lick 
the  sceptered  hand  that  often  loathes  their  abject  touch!" 

He  spoke  with  a  certain  bitterness  and  impatience,  as 
though  he  were  suffering  from  some  inward  nervous  irri- 
tation, and  Theos  observing  this,  prudently  made  no  at- 
tempt to  continue  the  conversation.  They  were  just 
then  passing  down  a  narrow,  rather  dark  street,  lined 
on  both  sides  by  lofty  buildings  of  quaint  and  elaborate 
architecture.  Long,  gloomy  shadows  had  gathered  in  this 
particular  spot,  where  for  a  short  space  the  silence  was 
so  intense  that  one  could  almost  hear  one's  own  heart 
beat.  Suddenly  a  yellowish  green  ray  of  light  flashed 
across  the  pavement,  and  lo!  the  upper  rim  of  the  moon 
peered  above  the  housetops,  looking  strangely  large  and 
rosily  brilliant;  the  air  seemed  all  at  once  to  grow  suffo- 
cating and  sulphureous,  and  between  whiles  there  came 
the  faint  plashing  sound  of  water  lapping  against  stone 
with  a  monotonous  murmur  as  of  continuous  soft  whis- 
pers. 

The  vast  silence,  the  vast  night,  were  full  of  a  solemn 
weirdness;  the  moon,  curiously  magnified  to  twice  her 
ordinary  size,  soared  higher  and  higher,  firing  the  lofty 
solitudes  of  heaven  with  long,  shooting  radiations  of 
rose  and  green,  while  still  in  the  purple  hollow  of  the 
horizon  lay  that  immense,  immovable  cloud,  nerved, as  it 
were,  with  living  lightning  which  leaped  incessantly  from 
its  center  like  a  thousand  swords  drawn  and  redrawn 
from  as  many  scabbards. 

Presently  the  deep,  booming  noise  of  a  great  bell  smote 
heavily  on  the  stillness — a  sound  that  Theos,  oppressed 
by  the  weight  of  unutterable  for-bodings,  welcomed  with  a 
vague  sense  of  relief,  while  Sah-luma,  hearing  it,  quick 
ened  his  pace.  They  soon  reached  the  end  of  the  street, 
which  terminated  in  a  spacious  quadrangular  court  guard- 
ed on  all  sides  by  gigantic  black  statues,  and  quickly 
crossing  this  place,  which  was  entirely  deserted, they  came 
out  at  once  into  a  dazzling  blaze  of  light;  the  Temple 
of  Nagaya  in  all  its  stately  magnificence  towered  before 
them,  a  stupendous  pile  of  marvelously  delicate  architec- 
ture, so  fine  as  to  seem  like  lace-work  rather  than  stone. 
It  was  lit  up  from  base  to  summit  with  glittering 
lamps  of  all  colors;  the  twelve  revolving  stars  of  its 
twelve  tall  turrets  cast  forth  wide  beams  of  penetrating 


360  "ARDATH" 

radiance  into  the  deepening  darkness  of  the  night;  aloft 
in  the  topmost  crown  of  pinnacles  swung  the  prayer- 
commanding  bell,  while  the  enormous  crowds  swarming 
thick  about  it  gave  it  the  appearance  of  a  brilliant  Pha- 
ros set  in  the  midst  of  a  surging  sea.  The  steps  lead- 
ing up  to  it  were  strewn  ankle-deep  with  flowers,  the 
doors  stood  open,  and  a  thunderous  hum  of  solemn  music 
vibrated  in  wave-like  pulsations  through  the  heavy, 
heated  air. 

Half  blinded  by  the  extreme  effulgence,  and  confused  by 
the  jostling  to  and  fro  of  a  multitude  immeasurably  greater 
than  any  he  had  ever  seen  or  imagined,  Theos  instinc- 
tively stretched  out  his  hand  in  the  helpless  fashion  of 
one  not  knowing  whither  next  to  turn;  Sah-luma  imme- 
diately caught  it  in  his  own,  and  hurried  him  along  with- 
out saying  a  word. 

How  they  managed  to  glide  through  the  close  ranks 
of  pushing,  pressing  people,  and  effect  an  entrance,  he 
never  knew;  but  when  he  recovered  from  his  momentary 
dazed  bewilderment,  he  found  himself  inside  the  temple, 
standing  near  a  pillar  of  finely  fluted  white  marble  that 
shot  up  like  the  stem  of  a  palm-tree  and  lost  its  final 
point  in  the  dim  yet  sparkling  splendor  of  the  immense 
dome  above.  Lights  twinkled  everywhere;  there  was 
the  odor  of  faint  perfumes  mingled  with  the  fresher  fra- 
grance of  flowers;  there  were  distant  glimpses  of  jeweled 
shrines,  and  the  leering  faces  of  grotesque  idols  clothed 
in  draperies  of  amber,  purple  and  green,  and  between 
the  multitudinous  columns  that  ringed  the  superb  fane 
with  snowy  circles  one  within  the  other,  hung  glittering 
lamps,  set  with  rare  gems  and  swinging  by  long  chains 
of  gold. 

But  the  crowning  splendor  of  the  whole  was  concen- 
trated on  the  place  of  the  secret  inner  shrine.  There 
an  arch  of  pale  blue  fire  spanned  the  dome  from  left  to 
right;  there,  from  huge  bronze  vessels  mounted  on  tall 
tripods  the  smoke  of  burning  incense  arose  in  thick  and 
odorous  clouds ;  there,  children  clad  in  white  and  wear- 
ing garlands  of  vivid  scarlet  blossoms  stood  about  in 
little  groups  as  still  as  exquisitely  modeled  statues, 
their  small  hands  folded  and  their  eyes  downcast;  there, 
the  steps  were  strewn  with  branches  of  palm,  flowering 
oleander,  rose-laurel,  and  olive  sprays,  but  the  sanctuary 
itself  was  not  visible. 


IN  THE   TEMPLE   OF   N AGAVA  361 

Before  that  Holy  of  Holies  hung  the  dazzling  folds  of 
the  "Silver  Veil,"  a  curtain  of  the  most  wonderfully 
woven  silver  tissue,  that,  seen  in  the  flashing  azure  light 
of  the  luminous  arch  above  it,  resembled  nothing  so 
much  as  a  suddenly  frozen  sheet  of  foam.  Across  it  was 
emblazoned  in  large  characters: 

I   AM   THE    PAST,    THE    PRESENT,    THE   FUTURE, 

THE   MIGHT-HAVE-BEEN,    AND   THE   SHALL-NOT-BE, 

THE   EVER,    AND    THE   NEVER, 

NO  MORTAL  KNOWETH  MY  NAME. 

As  Theos,  with  some  difficulty,  owing  to  the  intense 
brilliancy  of  the  veil,  managed  to  decipher  these  words, 
he  heard  a  solitary  trumpet  sounded — a  clear-blown  note 
that  echoed  itself  many  times  among  the  lofty  arches 
before  it  finally  floated  into  silence.  Recognizing  this 
as  an  evident  signal  for  some  new  and  important  phase 
in  the  proceedings,  he  turned  his  eyes  away  from  the 
place  of  the  shrine,  and  looking  round  the  building,  was 
surprised  to  see  how  completely  the  vast  area  was  filled 
with  crowds  upon  crowds  of  silent  and  expectant  people. 
It  seemed  as  though  not  the  smallest  wedge  could  have 
been  inserted  between  the  shoulders  of  one  man  and  an- 
other, yet  where  he  stood  with  Sah-luma  there  was  plenty 
of  room.  The  reason  of  this,  however,  was  soon  appar- 
ent ;  they  were  in  the  place  reserved  for  the  king  and 
the  immediate  officers  of  the  royal  household,  and  scarcely 
had  the  sweet  vibration  of  that  clear  trumpet-blast  died 
away,  when  Zephoranim  himself  appeared,  walking  slowly 
and  majestically  in  the  midst  of  a  select  company  of  his 
nobles  and  courtiers. 

He  wore  the  simple  white  garb  of  an  ordinary  citizen 
of  Al-Kyris,  together  with  a  silver  belt  and  plain-sheathed 
dagger  j  not  a  jewel  relieved  the  classic  severity  of  his 
costume,  and  not  even  the  merest  fillet  of  gold  on  his 
rough  dark  hair  denoted  his  royal  rank.  But  the  pride 
of  precedence  spoke  in  his  flashing  eyes,  the  arrogance 
of  authority  in  the  self-conscious  poise  of  his  figure,  and 
haughtiness  of  his  step;  his  brows  were  knitted  in  some- 
thing of  a  frown,  and  his  face  looked  pale  and  slightly 
Careworn.  He  spied  out  Sah-luma  at  once,  and  smiled 


362  "ARDATH" 

kindly;  there  was  not  a  trace  of  coldness  in  his  manner 
toward  his  favored  minstrel,  and  Theos  noted  this  with 
a  curious  sense  of  sudden  consolation  and  encourage- 
ment. "Why  should  I  have  feared  Zephoranim?"  he 
thought.  "Sah-luma  has  no  greater  friend,  except  my- 
self. The  king  would  be  the  last  person  in  the  world 
to  do  him  any  injury!" 

Just  then  a  magnificent  burst  of  triumphal  music  rolled 
through  the  Temple — the  music  of  some  mighty  instru- 
ment, organ-like  in  sound,  but  several  tones  deeper  than 
the  grandest  organ  ever  made,  mingled  with  children's 
voices  singing.  The  king  seated  himself  on  a  cushioned 
chair  directly  in  front  of  the  silver  veil;  Sah-luma  took 
a  place  at  his  right  hand,  giving  Theos  a  low  bench  close 
beside  him,  while  the  various  distinguished  personages 
who  had  attended  Zephoranim  disposed  themselves  in- 
differently wherever  they  could  find  standing  room,  only 
keeping  as  near  to  their  monarch  as  they  were  able  to 
do  in  the  extreme  pressure  of  so  vast  a  congregation. 

For  now  every  available  inch  of  space  was  occupied ; 
as  far  as  eye  could  see  there  were  rows  upon  rows  of  men 
and  white-veiled  women;  Theos  imagined  there  must 
have  been  more  than  five  thousand  people  present.  On 
went  the  huge  pulsations  of  melody,  surging  through  the 
incense-laden  air  like  waves  thudding  incessantly  on  a 
rocky  shore,  and  presently  out  of  a  side  archway  near  the 
sanctuary  steps  came  with  slow  and  gliding  noiselessness 
a  band  of  priests,  walking  two  by  two,  and  carrying 
branches  of  palm.  These  were  all  clad  in  purple  and 
crowned  with  ivy-wreaths;  they  marched  sedately,  keep- 
ing their  eyes  lowered,  while  their  lips  moved  constantl)', 
as  though  they  muttered  inaudible  incantations.  Wav- 
ing their  palm-boughs  to  and  fro,  they  paced  along  past 
the  king  and  down  the  center  aisle  of  the  temple;  then 
turning,  they  came  back  again  to  the  lowest  step  of  the 
shrine,  and  there  they  all  prostrated  themselves,  while 
the  children  stood  near;  the  incense-burners  flung  fresh 
perfumes  on  the  glowing  embers,  and  chanted  the  fol- 
lowing recitative: 

"O  Nagaya,  great,  everlasting  and  terrible! 
Thou  who  dost  wind  thy  coils  of  wisdom  into  the  heart! 
Thou  whose  eyes,  waking  and  sleeping,  do  behold  all  things! 
Thou  who  art  the  joy  of  the  sun  and  the  master  of  virgins! 
If  ear  us.  we  beseech  thee,  when  we  call  upon  thy  namel" 


iN  THE  TEMPLE  OF  NAGAYA  363 

Their  young  treble  voices  were  clear  and  piercing,  and 
pealed  up  to  the  dome  to  fall  again  like  the  drops  of  dis- 
tinct round  melody  from  a  lark's  singing  throat,  and 
when  they  ceased  there  came  a  short,  impressive  pause. 
The  silver  veil  quivered  from  end  to  end  as  though  swayed 
by  a  faint  wind,  and  the  flaming  arch  above  turned  from 
pale  blue  to  a  strange  shimmering  green.  Then,  in  mel- 
low unison,  the  kneeling  priests  intoned: 

1  'O  thou  who  givest  words  o   power  to  the  dumb  mouth  of  th»  soul  in 

Hades;  hear  us,  Nagfiya! 
O  thou  who  openest  the  grave  and  givest  peace  to  the  heart;  plead  for 

us,  Nagaya! 
O  thou  who  art  companion  of  the  sun  and  controller  of  the  east  and  of 

the  west;  comfort  us,  Nagaya!" 

Here  thy  ended,  and  the  children  began  again  not  to 
chant  but  to  sing — a  strange  and  tristful  tune,  wilder 
than  any  that  vagrant  winds  could  play  on  the  strings  of 
an  aeolian  lyre. 

"O  virgin  of  virgins,  holy  maid,  to  what  shall  we    resemble  the«? 
Chaste  daughter  of  the  sun,  how  shall  we  praise  thy  peerless  beauty? 
Thou  art  the  gate  of  the  house  of  stars!  thou  art   the  first  of  the  seven 

jewels  of  Nagaya! 
Thou  dost  wield  the  scepter  of  ebony,  and  the  Eye  of   Raphon   behold? 

thee  with  love  and  contentment! 
Thou  art  the  chiefest  of  women, — thou   hast   the  secrets  of  earth  and 

heaven,  thou  knowest  the  dark  mysteries! 
Hail  Lysia!  Queen  of  the  Hall  of  Judgment! 
Hail,  pure  pearl  iu  the  sea  of  the  Sun's  glory! 
Declare  unto  us,  we  beseech  thee,  the  will  of  Nagiya!" 

They  closed  this  canticle  softly  and  slowly;  then  fling- 
ing themselves  prone,  they  pressed  their  faces  to  the 
earth,  and  again  the  glittering  veil  waved  to  and  fro 
suggestively,  while  Theos,  his  heart  beating  fast,  watched 
its  shining  woof  with  straining  eyes  and  a  sense  of  suffo- 
cation in  his  throat.  What  ignorant  fools,  what  mad 
barbarians,  what  blind  blasphemers  were  these  people, 
he  indignantly  thought,  who  could  thus  patiently  hear 
the  praise  of  an  evil  woman  like  Lysia  publicly  pro- 
claimed with  almost  divine  honors! 

Did  they  actually  intend  to  worship  her?  he  wondered. 
If  so,  he,  at  any  rate,  would  never  bend  the  knee  to  one  so 
vile!  He  might  have  done  so  once,  perhaps — but  now1 
At  that  instant  a  flute-like  murmur  of  melody  crept  up- 
ward as  it  seemed  from  the  ground,  with  a  plaintive 


364  "ARDATH** 

whispering  sweetness  like  the  lament  of  some  exiletf 
fairy,  so  exquisitely  tender  and  pathetic,  and  yet  withal 
so  heart-stirring  and  passionate,  that  despite  himseli 
he  listened  with  a  strange,  swooning  sense  of  languor 
stealing  insidiously  over  him — a  dreamy  lassitude,  that, 
while  it  made  him  feel  enervated  and  deprived  of  strength 
was  still  not  altogether  unpleasing;  a  faint  sigh  escaped 
his  lips,  and  he  kept  his  gaze  fixed  on  the  silver  veil  as 
pertinaciously  as  though  behind  it  lay  the  mystery  of  his 
soul's  ruin  or  salvation. 

How  the  light  flashed  on  its  shimmering  folds  like  the 
rippling  phosphorescence  on  southern  seas!  as  green  and 
clear  and  brilliant  as  rays  reflected  from  thousands  and 
thousands  of  glistening  emeralds!  And  that  haunting, 
sorrowful,  weird  music!  How  it  seemed  to  eat  into  his 
heart  and  there  waken  a  bitter  remorse  combined  with 
an  equally  bitter  despair! 

Once  more  the  veil  moved,  and  this  time  it  appeared  to 
inflate  itself  in  the  fashion  of  a  sail  caught  by  a  sudden 
breeze;  then  it  began  to  part  in  the  middle  very  slowly 
and  without  sound.  Further  and  further  back  on  each 
side  it  gradually  receded,  and,  like  a  lily  disclosed 
between  unfolding  leaves,  a  figure,  white,  wonderful,  and 
angelically  fair,  shone  out,  the  center  jewel  of  the  stately 
shrine — a  shrine  whose  immense  carven  pillars,  grotesque 
idols,  bronze  and  gold  ornaments,  jeweled  lamps  and 
dazzling  embroideries  only  served  as  a  sort  of  neutral- 
tinted  background  to  intensify  with  a  more  lustrous 
charm  the  statuesque  loveliness  revealed.  O  Lysia,  un- 
virgined  priestess  of  the  sun  and  Nagaya,  how  gloriously 
art  thou  arrayed  in  sin!  O  singular  sweetness  whose 
end  must  needs  be  destruction,  was  ever  .woman  fairer 
than  thou !  O  love,  love,  lost  in  the  dead  long-ago,  and 
drowned  in  the  uttermost  darkness  of  things  evil,  wilt 
thou  drag  my  soul  with  thee  again  into  everlasting  night ! 

Thus  Theos  inwardly  raved,  without  any  real  compre- 
hension of  his  own  thoughts,  but  only  stricken  by  a  fe- 
verish passion  of  mingled  love  and  hatred  as  he  stared 
on  the  witching  sorceress  whose  marvelous  beauty  was 
such  wonder  and  torture  to  his  eyes;  what  mattered  it 
to  him  that  king,  laureate,  and  people  had  all  prostrated 
themselves  before  her  in  reverent  humility?  He  knew 
her  nature,  he  had  fathomed  her  inborn  wickedness,  and 


IN  THE  TEMPLE   O*    NAG  A/-*  365 

though  his  senses  were  attracted  by  her,  his  spirit  loath- 
ingly  repelled  her.  He  therefore  remained  seated,  stiffly 
upright,  watching  her  with  a  sort  of  passive,  immovable 
intentness.  As  she  now  appeared  before  him,  her  love- 
liness was  absolutely  and  ideally  perfect;  she  looked 
the  embodiment  of  all  grace,  the  model  of  all  chastity. 

She  stood  quite  still,  her  hands  folded  on  her  breast, 
her  head  slightly  lifted,  her  dark  eyes  upturned;  her 
unbound  black  hair  streamed  over  her  shoulders  in  loose, 
glossy  waves,  and  above  her  brows  her  diadem  of  ser- 
pents' heads  sparkled  like  a  corona  of  flame.  Her  robe 
was  white,  made  of  some  silky,  shining  stuff  that  glis- 
tened with  soft,  pearly  hues;  it  was  gathered  about  her 
waist  by  a  twisted  golden  girdle.  Her  arms  were  bare, 
decked  as  before  with  the  small  jeweled  snakes  that 
coiled  upward  from  wrist  to  shoulder;  and  when  after  a 
brief  pause  she  unfolded  her  hands  and  raised  them  with 
a  slow,  majestic  movement  above  her  head,  the  great  sym- 
bolic eye  flared  from  her  bosom  like  a  darting  coal,  seem- 
ing to  turn  sinister  glances  on  all  sides  as  though  on  the 
search  for  some  suspected  foe. 

Fortunately,  no  one  appeared  to  notice  Theos*  delib- 
erate non-observance  of  the  homage  due  to  her,  no  one 
except  Lysia  herself.  She  met  the  open  defiance,  scorn, 
and  reluctant  admiration  of  his  glance,  and  a  cold  smile 
dawned  on  her  features — a  smile  more  dreadful  in  its 
very  sweetness  than  any  frown;  then,  turning  away  her 
beautiful,  fathomless,  slumberous  eyes,  and  still  keeping 
her  arms  raised,  she  lifted  up  her  voice — a  voice  mellow 
as  a  golden  flute,  that  pierced  the  silence  with  a  straight 
arrow  of  pure  sound,  and  chanted: 

"Give  glory  to  the  sun,  O  ye  people!  for  his  light  doth  illumine  your 
darknessl" 

And  the  murmur  of  the  mighty  crowd  surged  back  in 
answer: 

"We  give  him  glory J" 

Here  came  a  brief  clash  of  brazen  bells,  and  tfrhen  the 
clamor  ceased  Lysia  continued: 

"Give  glory  to  the  moon,  O  ye  people! — for  she  is  the  servant  of  th« 

sua  and  the  ruler  of  the  house  of  sleep!" 

Again  the  people  responded: 


366  "ARDATH* 

"  We  give  her  glory?"  and  again  the  bells  jangled 
tempestuously. 

'  'Give  glory  to  Nagdya,  O  ye  people!  for  he  alone  can  turn  aside  the 
wrath  of  the  immortalsl" 

"  We  give  him  glory!"  rejoined  the  multitude,  and, 
"  We  give  him  glory!"  seemed  to  be  shouted  high  among 
the  arches  of  the  temple  with  a  strange  sound  as  of  the 
mocking  laughter  of  devils. 

This  preliminary  over,  there  came  out  of  unseen  doors 
on  both  sides  of  the  sanctuary  twenty  priests  in  compa- 
nies of  ten  each,  ten  advancing  from  the  left,  ten  from 
the  right.  These  were  clad  in  flowing  garments  of  car- 
nation-colored silk,  heavily  bordered  with  gold,  and  the 
leader  of  the  right-hand  group  was  the  priest  Zel.  His 
demeanor  was  austere  and  dignified;  he  carried  a  square 
cushion  covered  in  black,  on  which  lay  a  long,  thin, 
cruel-looking  knife  with  a  jeweled  hilt.  The  chief  of 
the  priests,  who  stood  on  the  left,  bore  a  very  tall  and 
massive  staff  of  polished  ebony,  which  he  solemnly  pre- 
sented to  the  high-priestess,  who  grasped  it  firmly  in  one 
slight  hand,  and  allowed  its  end  to  rest  steadily  on  the 
ground,  while  its  uppermost  point  reached  far  above  her 
head. 

Then  followed  the  strangest,  weirdest  scene  that  ever 
the  pen  of  poet  or  brush  of  painter  devised;  a  march 
round  and  round  the  temple  of  all  the  priests,  bearing 
lighted  flambeaux  and  singing  in  chorus  a  wild  litany— 
a  confused  medley  of  supplications  to  the  sun  and 
Nagaya,  which,  accompanied  as  it  was  by  the  discordant 
beating  of  drums  and  the  clanging  of  bells,  had  an  evi- 
dently powerful  effect  on  the  minds  of  the  assembled 
populace,  for  presently  they  also  joined  in  the  maddening 
chant,  and  growing  more  and  more  possessed  by  the  con- 
tagious fever  of  fanaticism,  began  to  howl  and  shriek  and 
clap  their  hands  furiously,creating  a  frightful  din,  suggest- 
ive of  some  fiendish  clamor  in  hell. 

Theos,  half  deafened  by  the  horrible  uproar,  as  well 
as  roused  to  an  abnormal  pitch  of  restless  excitement, 
looked  round  to  see  how  Sah-luma  comported  himself. 
He  was  sitting  quite  still,  in  a  perfectly  composed  atti- 
tude; a  faint  derisive  smile  played  on  his  lips;  his  pro- 
file, as  it  just  then  appeared,  had  the  firmness  and  the 


IH  THE  TEMPLE  OF  NAGAYA  367 

pure,  soft  outline  of  a  delicately  finished  cameo;  his 
splendid  eyes  now  darkened,  now  lightened  with  passion, 
as  he  gazed  at  Lysia,  who,  all  alone  in  the  center  of  the 
shrine,  held  her  ebony  staff  as  perpendicularly  erect  as 
though  it  were  a  tree  rooted  fathoms  deep  in  earth, 
keeping  herself,  too,  as  motionless  as  a  figure  of  frozen 
snow. 

And  the  king — what  of  him?  Glancing  at  that  bronze- 
like,  brooding  countenance,  Theos  was  startled  and  at 
the  same  time  half  fascinated  by  its  expression.  Such 
a  mixture  of  tigerish  tenderness,  servile  idolatry,  in- 
temperate desire,  and  craven  fear  he  had  never  seen  de- 
lineated on  the  face  of  any  human  being.  In  the  black, 
thirsty  eyes  there  was  a  look  that  spoke  volumes — a 
look  that  betrayed  what  the  heart  concealed,  and  reading 
that  featured  emblazonment  of  hidden  guilt,  Thecs  knew 
beyond  all  doubt  that  the  rumors  concerning  the  high 
priestess  and  the  king  were  true,  that  the  dead  Khosrul 
had  spoken  rightly,  that  Zephoranim  loved  Lysia! 
Love?  It  seemed  too  tame  a  word  for  the  pent-up  fury 
of  passion  that  visibly  and  violently  consumed  the  man. 
What  would  be  the  result? 

"When  the  high  priestess 
Is  the  king's  mistress 
Then  fall  Al-Kyris!" 

These  foolish  doggerel  lines!  Why  did  they  suggest 
themselves?  They  meant  nothing.  The  question  did 
not  concern  Al-Kyris  at  all;  let  the  city  stand  or  fall  as 
it  list,  who  cared,  so  long  as  Sah-luma  escaped  injury! 
Such,  at  least,  was  the  tenor  of  Theos'  thoughts,  as  he 
rapidly  began  to  calculate  certain  contingencies  that  now 
seemed  likely  to  occur.  If,  for  instance,  the  king  were 
made  aware  of  Sah-luma's  intrigue  with  Lysia,  would 
not  his  rage  and  jealousy  exceed  all  bounds?  And  if, 
on  the  other  hand,  Sah-luma  were  convinced  of  the  king's 
passion  for  the  same  fatally  fair  traitress,  would  not  his 
wrath  and  injured  self-love  overbear  all  loyalty  and  pru- 
dence? 

And  between  the  two  powerful  rivals  who  thus  by 
stealth  enjoyed  her  capricious  favors,  what  would  Lysia's 
own  decision  be?  Like  a  loud  hissing  in  his  ears,  he 
heard  again  the  murderous  command — a  command  which 
was  half  a  menace — "Kill  Sah-lumar 


368  "APDATH" 

Faint  shudders  as  of  icy  cold  ran  through  him;  he 
nerved  himself  to  meet  some  deadly  evil,  though  he 
could  not  guess  what  that  evil  might  be;  he  was  willing 
to  throw  away  all  the  past  that  haunted  him,  and  cut  oh1 
all  hope  of  a  future,  provided  he  could  only  baffle  the 
snares  of  the  pitiless  beauty  to  whom  the  torture  of  men 
was  an  evident  joy,  and  rescue  his  beloveJ  and  gifted 
friend1  from  her  perilous  attraction!  Making  a  strong 
effort  to  master  the  inward  conflict  of  fear  and  pain  that 
tormented  him,  he  turned  his  attention  anew  to  the  gor- 
geous ceremony  that  was  going  on.  The  march  of  the 
priests  had  come  to  an  abrupt  end.  They  stood  now  on 
each  side  of  the  shrine,  divided  in  groups  of  equal  num- 
bers, tossing  their  flambeaux  around  and  above  them  to 
the  measured  ringing  of  bells.  At  every  upward  wave  of 
these  flaring  torches,  a  tongue  of  fire  leaped  aloft,  to  in- 
stantly  break  and  descend  in  a  sparkling  shower  of  gold; 
the  effect  of  this  was  wonderful  in  the  extreme,  as,  by  the 
dexterous  way  in  which  the  flames  were  flung  forth,  it  ap- 
peared to  the  spectators'  eyes  as  though  a  luminous  snake 
were  twisting  and  coiling  itself  to  and  fro  in  mid-air. 

All  loud  music  ceased;  the  multitude  calmed  down  by 
degrees,  and  left  off  their  delirious  cries  of  frenzy  or 
rapture;  there  was  nothing  heard  but  a  monotonous 
chanting  in  undertone,  of  which  not  a  syllable  was  dis- 
tinctly intelligible.  Then  from  out  a  dark  portal,  un- 
perceived  in  the  shadowed  gloom  of  a  curtained  niche, 
there  advanced  a  procession  of  young  girls,  fifty  in  all, 
clad  in  pure  white  and  closely  veiled. 

They  carried  small  citherns,  and,  arriving  in  front  of 
the  shrine,  they  knelt  down  in  a  semi-circle,  and  very 
gently  began  to  strike,  the  short  responsive  strings.  The 
murmur  of  a  lazy  rivulet  among  whispering  reeds,  the 
sighing  suggestions  of  leaves  ready  to  fall  in  autumn,  the 
little,  low,  languid  trilling  of  nightingales  just  learning 
to  sing — any  or  all  of  these  might  be  said  to  resemble 
the  dulcet  melody  they  played,  while  every  delicate 
arpeggio,  every  rippling  chord,  was  muffled  with  a  soft 
pressure  of  their  hands  ere  the  sound  had  time  to  become 
vehement.  This  elf-like  harping  continued  for  a  short 
interval,  during  which  the  priests,  gathering  in  a  ring 
round  a  huge,  bronze,  font-shaped  vessel  hard  by,  dipped 
their  flambeaux  therein  and  suddenly  extinguished  them. 


IN  THE  TEMPLE  OF  NAGAYA  369 

At  the  same  moment  the  lights  in  the  body  of  the 
Temple  were  all  lowered  ;  only  the  arch  spanning  the 
shrine  blazed  in  undiminished  brilliancy,  its  green  tint 
appearing  more  intense  in  contrast  with  the  surrounding 
deepening  shadow.  And  now,  with  a  harsh,  clanging 
noise  as  of  the  turning  of  heavy  bolts  and  keys,  the  back 
of  the  sanctuary  parted  asunder  in  the  fashion  of  a  re- 
volving doorway,  and  a  golden  grating  was  disclosed, 
its  strong,  glistening  bars  welded  together  like  knotted 
ropes  and  wrought  with  marvelous  finish  and  solidity. 
Turning  toward  this  semblance  of  a  prison  cell,  Lysia 
spoke  aloud,  her  clear  tones  floating  with  mellifluous 
slowness  above  the  half-hushed  quiverings  of  the  cithern 
choir: 

"Come  forth,  O  Nagaya,  thou  who  didst  slumber  in  the  bosom  of  space 
ere  ever  the  world  was  made! 

"Come  forth,  O  Nagaya,  thou  who  didst  behold  the  sun  born  out  of 
chaos,  and  the  earth  enriched  with  ever-productive  life! 

'  Come  forth,  O  Nagaya,  friend  of  the  gods  and  the  people,  and  com- 
fort us  with  the  divine  silence  of  thy  wisdom  supernal!" 

While  she  pronounced  these  words,  the  golden  grating 
ascended  gradually  inch  by  inch,  with  a  steady  clank  as 
of  the  upward  winding  of  a  chain,  and  when  she  ceased, 
there  came  a  mysterious,  rustling,  slippery  sound,  sug- 
gestive of  some  creeping  thing  forcing  its  way  through 
wet  and  tangled  grass,  or  over  dead  leaves;  one  instant 
more,  and  a  huge  serpent,  a  species  of  p)'thon,  glided 
through  the  round  aperture  made  by  the  lifted  bars,  and 
writhed  itself  slowly  along  the  marble  pavement  straight 
to  where  Lysia  stood. 

Once  it  stopped,  curving  back  its  glistening  body  in  a 
strange  loop  as  though  in  readiness  to  spring,  but  it  soon 
resumed  its  course  and  arrived  at  the  high  priestess's 
feet.  There,  its  whole  frame  trembled  and  glowed  with 
extraordinary  radiance;  the  prevailing  color  of  its  skin 
was  creamy  white,  marked  with  countless  rings,  and 
scaly  bright  spcts  of  silver,  purple,  and  a  peculiarly  livid 
blue,  and  all  these  tints  came  into  brilliant  prcminence, 
as  it  crouched  before  Lysia  and  twisted  its  sinuous  neck 
to  and  fro  with  an  evidently  fawning  and  supplicatory 
gesture,  while  she,  keeping  her  somber  dark  eyes  fixed  full 
upon  it,  moved  not  an  inch  from  her  j  csiticn,  but,  ma- 
jestically serene,  continued  to  hold  the  tall  staff  of  ebony 
straight  and  erect  as  a  growing  palm. 


370  "ARDATH" 

The  cithern-playing  had  now  the  soothing  softness  oi 
a  mother's  lullaby  to  a  tired  child,  and  as  the  liquid 
notes  quavered  delicately  on  the  otherwise  deep  stillness, 
the  formidable  reptile  began  to  coil  itself  ascendingly 
round  and  round  the  ebony  rod,  higher  and  higher,  one 
glistening  ring  after  another — higher  still,  till  its  eyes 
were  on  a  level  with  the  "eye  of  Raphon"  that  flamed  on 
Lysia's  breast;  there  it  paused  in  apparent  reflective- 
ness, and  seemed  to  listen  to  the  slumberous  strains  that 
floated  toward  it  in  wind-like  breaths  of  sound,  then, 
starting  afresh  on  its  upward  way,  it  carefully  and  with 
almost  human  tenderness  avoided  touching  Lysia's  hand, 
which  now  rested  on  the  staff  between  two  thick  twists 
of  its  body,  and  finally  it  reached  the  top,  where,  fully 
raising  its  crested  head,  it  displayed  the  prismatic  tints 
of  its  soft,  restless,  wavy  throat,  which  was  adorned 
furthermore  by  a  flexible  circlet  of  magnificent  diamonds. 

Nothing  more  striking  or  more  singular  could  Theos 
imagine  than  the  scene  now  before  him — the  beautiful 
woman,  still  as  sculptured  marble,  and  the  palpitating 
snake  coiled  on  that  mast-like  rod  and  uplifted  above 
her,  while  round  the  twain  knelt  the  priests,  their  faces 
covered  in  their  robes,  and  from  all  parts  of  the  temple 
the  loud  shout  arose: 

•ALL  HAIL,  NAGAYA!" 
'Praise,  honor,  and  glory  be  unto  thee  for  ever  and  ever!" 

Then  it  was  that  the  proud  king  flung  himself  to  earth 
and  kissed  the  dust  in  abject  submission;  then  Sah  luma, 
carelessly  complaisant,  bent  the  knee  and  smiled  to  him- 
self mockingly  as  he  performed  the  act  of  veneration;  then 
tl.e  enormous  multitude,  with  clasped  hands  and  beseech- 
ing looks,  fell  down  and  worshiped  the  glittering  beast 
of  the  field,  whose  shining,  emerald-like,  curiously  sad 
eyes  roved  hither  and  thither  with  a  darting,  melancholy 
eagerness  over  all  the  people  who  called  it  Lord! 

To  Theos'  imagination  it  looked  a  creature  more  sor- 
rowful than  fierce,  a  poor,  charmed  brute,  that,  while 
netted  in  the  drowsy  woofs  of  its  mistress  Lysia's  mag- 
netic spell,  seemed  as  though  it  dimly  wondered  why 
it  should  thus  be  raised  aloft  for  the  adoration  of  infat- 
uated humankind.  Its  brilliant  crest  quivered  and  emit- 
ted little  arrowy  scintillations  of  luster;  the  "god"  was 


IN  THE  TEMPLE  OF  NAGAVA  371 

ill  at  ease  in  the  midst  of  all  his  splendor,  and  two  or 
three  times  bent  back  his  gleaming  neck  as  though  de- 
sirous of  descending  to  the  level  ground. 

But  when  these  hints  of  rebellion  declared  themselves 
in  the  tremors  running  through  the  scaly  twists  of  his 
body,  Lysia  looked  up,  and  at  once  compelled,  as  it 
were,  by  involuntary  attraction,  "Nagaya  the  Divine" 
looked  down.  The  strange,  subtle,  mesmeric,  sleepy 
eyes  of  the  woman  met  the  glittering, green, mournful  eyes 
of  the  snake,  and  thus  the  two  beautiful  creatures  re- 
garded each  other  steadfastly  and  with  an  apparent 
vague  sympathy,  till  the  "deity,"  evidently  overcome  by 
a  stronger  will  than  his  own,  and  resigning  himself  to 
the  inevitable,  twisted  his  radiant  head  back  again  to  the 
•£op  of  the  ebony  staff,  and  again  surveyed  the  kneeling 
crowds  of  worshipers. 

Presently  his  glistening  jaws  opened,  his  tongue  darted 
forth  vibratingly,and  he  gave  vent  to  a  low,hissing  sound, 
erecting  and  depressing  his  crest  with  extraordinary 
rapidity,  so  that  it  flashed  like  an  aigrette  of  rare  gems. 
Then,  with  slow  and  solemn  step,  the  priest  Zel  ad- 
vanced to  the  front  of  the  shrine,  and  spreading  out  his 
hands  in  the  manner  of  one  pronouncing  a  benediction, 
said  loudly  and  with  emphasis  : 

"Nagaya  the  Divine  doth  hear  the  prayers  of  his  people! 
Nagaya  the  Supreme  doth  accept  the  offered  sacrifice! 
BRING  FORTH  THE  VICTIM!" 

The  last  words  were  spoken  with  stern  authoritative- 
ness,  and  scarcely  had  they  been  uttered  when  the  great 
entrance  doors  of  the  temple  flew  open,  and  a  procession 
of  children  appeared,  strewing  flowers  and  singing: 

"O  happy  bride,  we  bring  thee  unto  joy  and  peace! 
To  thee  are  opened  the  palaces  of  the  air, 
The  beautiful  silent  palaces  where  the  bright  stars  dwell; 
O  happy  bride  of  Nagaya!  how  fair  a  fate  is  thine!" 

Pausing,  they  flung  wreaths  and  garlands  among  the 
people  and  continued: 

"O  happy  bride!  for  thee  are  past  all  sorrow  and  sin, 

"Thou  shall  never  know  shame,  or  pain  or  grief  or  the  weariness  of 
tears; 

"For  thee  no  husband  shall  prove  false,  no  children  prove  ungrateful; 

"O  happy  bride  of  Nagaya!  how  glad  a  fate  is  thine! 

"O  happy  bride!  when  thou  art  wedded  to  the  beautiful  god,  the  god 
of  rest, 


372  "ARDATH" 

'  Thoushalt  forget  all  trouble  and  dwell  among  sweet  dreams  for  eter! 
"Thou  art  the  blessed  one,  chosen  for  the  love-embraces  of  Nagaya! 
'•O  happy  bride!  how  glorious  a  fate  is  thine!" 

Thus  they  sang  in  the  soft,  strange  vowel-language  of 
Al-Kyris,  and  tripped  along  with  that  innocent,  unthink- 
ing gayety  usual  to  such  young  creatures,  up  the  center 
aisle  toward  the  sanctuary.  They  were  followed  by  four 
priests  in  scarlet  robes  and  closely  masked,  and  walking 
steadfastly  between  these  came  a  slim  girl  clad  in 
white,  veiled  from  head  to  foot  and  crowned  with  a 
wreath  of  lotus-lilies.  All  the  congregation,  as  though 
moved  by  one  impulse,  turned  to  look  at  her  as  she 
passed,  but  her  features  were  not  as  yet  discernible 
through  the  mist-like  draperies  that  enfolded  her. 

The  singing  children,  always  preceding  her  and  scat- 
tering flowers,  having  arrived  at  the  steps  of  the  shrine, 
grouped  themselves  on  either  side,  and  the  red-garmented 
priests,  after  having  made  several  genuflections  to  the 
glittering  python  that  now,  with  reared  neck  and  quiver- 
ing fangs,  seemed  to  watch  everything  that  was  going  on 
with  absorbed  and  crafty  vigilance,  proceeded  to  unveil 
the  maiden  martyr,  and  also  to  tie  her  slight  hands  be 
hind  her  back  by  means  of  a  knotted  silver  cord.  Then 
in  a  firm  voice  the  priest  Zel  proclaimed: 

"Behold  the  elected  bride  of  the  sun  and  the  Divine  Nag&ya! 

"She  bears  away  from  the  city  the  burden  of  your  sins,  O  ye  people! 
and  by  her  death  the  gods  are  satisfied! 

"Rejoice  greatly,  for  ye  are  absolved,  and  by  the  Silver  Veil  and  the 
Eye  of  Raphon  we  pronounce  on  all  here  present  tha  blessing  of  pardon 
and  peace 1" 

As  he  spoke,  the  girl  turned  round  as  though  in  obedi- 
ence to  some  mechanical  impulse,  and  fully  confronted  the 
multitude;  her  pale,  pure  face,  framed  in  a  shining  aureole 
of  rippling  fair  hair,  floated  before  Theos'  bewildered 
eyes  like  a  vision  seen  indistinctly  in  a  magic  crystal, 
and  he  was  for  a  moment  uncertain  of  her  identity;  but 
quick  as  a  flash  Sah-luma's  glance  lighted  upon  her,  and 
with  a  cry  of  horror  that  sent  desolate  echoes  through 
and  through  the  arches  of  the  temple,  he  started  from 
his  seat,  his  arms  outstretched,  and  his  whole  frame 
convulsed  and  quivering. 

"Niphrata!  Niphrata!"  and  his  rich  voice  shook  with  a 


THE  SACRIFICE  373 

passion  of  appeal.  "O  ye  god-!  what  mad,  blind,  mur- 
derous cruelty!  Zephoranim!"  arid  he  turned  impetu- 
ously on  the  astonished  monarch,  "as  thou  hvest  crowned 
king,  I  say  this  maid  is  mine!  and  in  the  very  presence 
of  Nagaya,  1  swear  she  shall  not  diel" 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  SACRIFICE. 

A  SOLEMN  silence  ensued.  Consternation  and  wrath 
were  depicted  on  every  countenance.  The  sacred  service 
was  interrupted  ;  a  defiance  had  been  hurled,  as  it  were, 
in  the  very  teeth  of  the  god  Nagaya,  and  this  horrible 
outrage  to  religion  and  law  had  been  actually  committed 
by  the  laureate  of  the  realm!  It  was  preposterous,  in- 
credible !  and  the  gaping  crowds  reached  over  each  other  s 
shoulders  to  stare  at  the  offender,  pressing  forward  eager, 
wondering,  startled  faces,  which  to  Theos  looked  far 
more  spectral  than  ever,  seen  in  the  shimmering  green 
radiance  that  was  thrown  flickeringly  upon  them  irom 
the  luminous  arch  above  the  altar.  The  priests  stood 
still  in  speechless  indignation;  Lysia  moved  not  at  all, 
nor  raised  her  eyes;  only  her  lips  parted  in  a  very  slight, 
cold  smile. 

Seized  with  mortal  dread,  Theos  gazed  helplessly  at 
his  reckless,  beautiful  poet-friend,  who,  with  head  erect 
and  visage  white  as  a  waning  moon,  haughtily  confronted 
his  sovereign  and  audaciously  asserted  his  right  to  be 
heard,  even  in  the  holy  place  of  worship.  The  king  was 
the  first  to  break  the  breathless  stillness ;  his  words 
came  harshly  from  his  throat,  and  the  great  muscles  in 
his  neck  seemed  to  swell  visibly  with  his  hardly  con- 
trolled  anger. 

"Peace!  Thou  art  suddenly  distraught,  Sah-luma! 
said  in  half  smothered,  fierce  accents.  "How  darest 
thou  uplift  thy  clamorous  tongue  thus  wantonly  before 
Naoaya,  and  interrupt  the  progress  of  his  sacred  ritual. 
Check  thy  mad  speech!  If  ever  yonder  maid  were  thine., 
'tis  certain  she  is  thine  no  longer;  she  hath  offered  her- 


374  "ARBATH* 

self,  a  voluntary  sacrifice,  and    the   gods  are   pleased    U 
claim  what  thou  perchance  hast  failed  to  value!" 

For  all  answer,  Sah-luma  flung  himself  desperately  at 
the  monarch's  feet. 

"Zephoranim,"  he  cried  again,  "I  tell  thee  she  is 
mine!  mine,  as  truly  mine  as  love  can  make  her!  Oh, 
she  is  chaster  than  lily-buds  in  her  sweet  body;  but  in 
her  spirit  she  is  wedded — wedded  to  me,  Sah-luma, 
whom  thou,  O  king,  hast  ever  delighted  tc,  honor!  And 
now  must  I  kneel  to  thee  in  vain,  thou  whose  victories 
I  have  sung,  whose  praises  I  have  chanted  in  burning 
words  that  shall  carry  thy  name  forever  with  triumph 
down  to  unborn  generations?  Wilt  thou  become  inglo- 
rious— a  warrior  stricken  strengthless  by  the  mummeries 
of  priestcraft,  the  juggleries  of  a  perishing  creed?  Thou 
art  the  ruler  of  Al-Kyris,  thou  and  thou  only!  Restore 
to  me  this  innocent  virgin-life  that  has  scarcely  yet 
begun  to  bloom;  speak  but  the  word  and  she  is  saved; 
and  her  timely  rescue  shall  add  luster  to  the  record  of 
thy  noblest  deeds!" 

His  matchless  voice,  full  of  passionate  pulsations,  ex- 
ercised for  a  moment  a  resistless  influence  and  magnetic 
charm.  The  king's  lowering  brows  relaxed,  and  a  gleam 
of  pity  passed  like  light  across  his  countenance.  In- 
stinctively he  extended  his  hand  to  raise  Sah-luma  from 
his  humble  attitude,  as  though,  even  in  his  wrath,  he 
were  conscious  of  the  immense  intellectual  superiority 
of  a  great  poet  to  ever  so  great  a  king;  and  a  thrill  of 
involuntary  compassion  seemed  at  the  same  time  to  run 
sympathetically  through  the  vast  congregation.  Theos 
drew  a  quick  breath  of  relief,  and  glanced  at  Niphrata, 
how  cold  and  unconcerned  was  her  demeanor!  Did  she 
not  hear  Sah-luma's  pleading  in  her  behalf?  No  mat- 
ter, she  would  be  saved,  he  thought,  and  all  would  yet 
be  well! 

And  truly  it  now  appeared  as  if  mercy,  and  not  cruelty, 
were  to  be  the  order  of  the  hour,  for  just  then  the  priest 
Zel,  after  having  exchanged  a  few  inaudible  words  with 
Lysia,  advanced  again  to  the  front  of  the  shrine  and 
spoke  in  distinct  tones  of  forced  gentleness  and  bland 
forbearance: 

"Hear  me,  O  king,  princes,  and  peop.'e!  Whereas  it 
hath  unhappily  occurred,  to  the  wonder  and  sorrow  oi 


THE   SACRIFICE  375 

many,  that  the  holy  spouse  of  the  divine  Nagaya  is  de- 
layed in  her  desired  departure,  by  the  unforeseen  oppo- 
sition and  unedifying  contumacy  of  Sah-luma,  poet-lau- 
reate of  this  realm  ;  and  lest  it  may  be  perchance  imag- 
ined by  vhe  uninitiated  that  the  maiden  is  in  any  way 
unwilling  to  fulfill  her  glorious  destiny,  the  high  and  im- 
maculate priestess  of  the  shrine  doth  bid  me  here  pro- 
nounce a  respite— a  brief  interval  wherein,  if  the  king 
and  the  people  be  willing,  he  who  is  named  Sah-luma 
shall,  by  virtue  of  his  high  renown,  be  permitted  to  ad- 
dress the  virgin  victim,  and  ascertain  her  own  wishes 
from  her  own  lips.  Injustice  cannot  dwell  within  this 
sacred  temple,  and  if,  on  trial,  the  maiden  chooses  the 
transitory  joys  of  earth  in  preference  to  the  everlasting 
joys  of -the  palaces  of  the  sun,  then  in  Nagaya's  name 
shall  she  go  free;  inasmuch  as  the  god  loves  not  a  reluc- 
tant bride,  and  better  no  sacrifice  at  all,  than  one  that  is 
grudgingly  consummated!" 

'  He  ceased,  and  Sah-luma  sprang  erect,  his  eyes  spar- 
kling, his  whole  demeanor  that  of  a  man  unexpectedly 
disburdened  from  some  crushing  grief. 

"Thanks  be  unto  the  benevolent  destinies! 
claimed,  flashing  a  quick  glance  of  gratitude  toward  Lysia 
—the  statuesque  Lysia,  on  whose  delicately  curved  lips 
the  faintly  derisive  smile  still  lingered.  "And  in  return 
for  the  life  of  my  Niphrata,  I  will  give  a  thousand  jewels 
rare  beyond  all  price  to  deck  Nagaya's  tabernacle,  and 
I  will  pour  libations  to  the  sun  for  twenty  days  and 
nights,  in  token  of  my  heart's  requital  for  mercy  well 
bestowed!" 

Stooping,  he  kissed  the  king's  hand;  whereupon,  at 
a  sign  from  Zel,  one  of  the  priests  attired  in  scarlet, 
unfastened  Niphrata's  bound  hands,  and  led  her  as  one 
leads  a  blind  child,  straight  up  to  where  Sah-luma  and 
Theos  stood,  close  beside  the  king,  who,  together  with 
many  others,  stared  curiously  upon  her.  How  fixed  and 
feverishly  brilliant  were  her  large  dark-blue  eyes!  How 
set  were  the  sensitive  lines  of  her  mouth!  How  inciffer- 
ent  she  seemed,  how  totally  unaware  of  the  laureate's 
presence!  The  priest  who  brought  her  retired  into  the 
background,  and  she  remained  where  he  left  her,  quite 
mute  and  motionless.  Oh,  how  every  nerve  in  Theos' 
body  throbbed  with  inexpressible  agony  as  he  beheld 


376  "ARDATH" 

her  thus!  The  wildest  remorse  possessed  him;  it  was 
as  though  he  looked  on  the  dim  picture  of  a  ruin  which 
he  himself  had  recklessly  brought, -and  he  could  have 
groaned  aloud  in  the  horrible  vagueness  of  his  incompre- 
hensible despair!  Sah-luma  caught  the  girl's  hand,  ami 
peered  into  her  white,  still  face. 

"Niphrata!  Niphrata!"  he  said  in  a  tremulous  half- 
whisper,  "I  am  here — Sah-luma!  Dost  thou  not  know 
me?" 

She  sighed,  a  long,  shivering  sigh,  and  smiled  ;  what 
a  strange,  wistful,  dying  smile  it  was!  but  she  m?Ae  no 
answer. 

"Niphrata,"  continued  the  laureate  passionately,  press- 
ing the  little  cold  fingers  that  lay  so  passively  in  his 
grasp,  "look  at  me !  I  have  come  to  save  thee — to  take 
thee  home  again ;  home  to  thy  flowers,  thy  birds,  thy 
harp,  thy  pretty  chamber  with  its  curtained  nook,  where 
thy  friend  Zoralin  waits  and  weeps  all  day  for  thee!  O 
ye  gods!  how  weak  am  I!"  and  he  fiercely  dashed  away 
the  drops  that  glistend  on  his  black,silky  lashes.  "Come 
with  me,  sweet  one, "  he  resumed  tenderly.  "Come!  Why 
art  thou  thus  silent — thou  whose  voice  hath  man^'  a  time 
outrivaled  the  music  of  the  nightingales!  Hast  thou  nc 
word  for  me,  thy  lord?  Come  !"  and  Theos,  struggling  to 
repress  his  own  rising  tears,  heard  his  friend's  accents 
sink  into  a  still  lower,  more  caressing  cadence.  "Thou 
shalt  never  again  have  cause  for  grief,  rny  Niphrata. 
never!  We  will  never  part!  Listen!  am  I  not  he  whom 
thou  lovest?" 

The  poor  child's  set  mouth  trembled, her  beautiful,  sad 
eyes  gazed  at  him  uncomprehendiug. 

"He  whom  I  love  is  not  here!"  she  said  in  tired,  soft 
tones.  "I  left  him,  but  he  followed  me;  and  now  he 
waits  for  me  yonder!"  And  she  turned  resolutely  toward 
the  sanctuary,  as  though  compelled  to  do  so  by  some 
powerful  mesmeric  attraction.  "See  you  not  how  fair 
he  is!"  and  she  pointed  with  her  disengaged  hand  to  the 
formidable  python,  through  whose  huge  coils  ran  the 
tremors  of  impatient  and  eager  breathing.  "How  ten- 
derly his  eyes  behold  me — those  e)'es  that  I  have  wor- 
shiped so  patiently,  so  faithfully,  and  yet  that  never  light- 
ened into  love  for  me  till  now  !  O  thou  more  than  be- 
loved! How  beautiful  thou  art,  my  adored  ene,  my  heart's 


THE  SACRIFICE  377 

idol!"  and  a  look  of  pale  exaltation  lightened  her  fea- 
tures, as  she  fixed  her  wistful  gaze,  like  a  fascinated 
bird,  on  the  shadow}'  recess  whence  the  serpent  had 
emerged.  "There,  there  thou  dost  rest  on  a  couch  of 
fadeless  roses;  how  softly  the  moonlight  enfolds  thee  with 
a  radiance  as  of  outspread  wings!  I  hear  thy  voice 
charming  the  silence  ;  thou  dost  call  me  by  my  name — 
oh,  once  poor  name  made  rich  by  thy  sweet  utterance! 
Yes,  my  beloved,  I  am  ready,  I  come!  I  shall  die  in  thy 
embraces — nay,  I  shall  not  die,  but  sleep,  and  dream  a 
dream  of  love  that  shall  last  forever  and  ever!  No  more 
sorrow,  no  more  tears,  no  mere  heart-sick  longings — " 

Here  she  stopped  in  her  incoherent  speech,  and  strove 
to  release  her  hand  from  Sah-luma's,  her  blue  eyes  filling 
with  infinite  anxiety  and  distress. 

"I  pray  thee,  good  stranger,"  she  entreated  with 
touching  mildness,  "whosoever  thou  art,  delay  me  not, 
but  let  me  go!  I  am  but  a  poor  love-sorrowful  maid  on 
whom  Lcve  hath  at  last  taken  pity!  Be  gentle,  there- 
fore, and  hinder  me  not  on  my  way  to  Sah-luma.  I  have 
waited  for  happiness  so  long,  so  long!" 

Her  young,  plaintive  voice  quavered  into  a  half-sob, 
and  again  she  endeavored  to  break  away  from  the  lau- 
reate's hold.  But  he,  overcome  by  the  excess  of  his  own 
grief  and  agitation,  seized  her  other  hand  and  drew  her 
close  up  to  him. 

"Niphrata,  Niphrata!"  he  cried  despairingly,  "what 
evil  hath  befallen  thee?  Where  is  thy  sight,  thy  mem- 
ory. Look!  Look  straight  in  these  eyes  of  mine,  and 
read  there  my  truth  and  tenderness!  I  am  Sah-luma, 
thine  own  Sah-luma — thy  poet,  thy  lover,  thy  slave;  all 
that  thou  wouldst  have  me  be,  I  am  !  Whither  wouldst 
thou  wander  in  search  of  me?  Thou  hast  no  further  to 
go,  dear  heart,  than  these  arms;  thou  art  safe  with  me, 
my  singing  bird.  Come,  let  me  lead  thee  hence,  and 
home !" 

She  watched  him  while  he  spoke,  with  a  strange  ex- 
pression of  distrust  and  uneasiness.  Then,  by  a  violent 
effort,  she  wrenched  her  hands  from  his  clasp,  and  stood 
aloof,  waving  him  back  with  an  eloquent  gesture  of 
amazed  reproach. 

"Away!"  she  said  in  firm  accents  of  sweat  severity. 
"Thou  art  a  demon  that  dost  seek  to  tempt  my  soul  to 


378  "ARIJATH" 

ruin!  Thou  Sah-luma!"  and  she  lifted  her  lily-crowned 
head  with  a  movement  of  proud  rejection.  "Nay,  thou 
mayest  wear  his  look,  his  smile,  thou  mayest  even  bor- 
row the  clear  heaven-luster  of  his  eyes,  but  I  tell  thee 
thou  art  fiend,  not  angel,  and  I  will  not  follow  thee 
into  the  tangled  ways  of  sin!  Oh,  thou  knowest  not  the 
meaning  of  true  love,  thou!  There  is  treachery  on  thy 
lips,  and  thy  tongue  is  trained  to  utter  honeyed  false- 
hood! Methinks  thou  hast  wantonly  broken  many  a 
faithful  heart,  and  made  light  jest  of  many  a  betrayed 
virgin's  sorrow !  And  thou  darest  to  call  thyself  my 
poet,  my  Sah-luma,  in  whom  there  is  no  guile,  and  who 
would  die  a  thousand  deaths  rather  than  wound  the 
frailest  soul  that  trusted  him!  Depart  from  me,  thou 
hypocrite  in  poet's  guise — thou  cruel  phantom  of  my 
love — back  to  that  darkness  where  thou  dost  belong,  and 
trouble  not  my  peace!" 

Sah-luma  recoiled  from  her,  amazed  and  stupefied. 
Theos  clenched  his  hands  together  in  a  sort  of  physical 
effort  to  keep  down  the  storm  of  emotions  working  with- 
in him,  for  Niphrata's  words  burnt  into  his  brain  like 
fire;  too  well,  too  well  he  understood  their  full  inten- 
sity of  meaning!  She  loved  the  ideal  Sah-luma,  the  Sah- 
luma  of  her  own  pure  fancies  and  desires — not  the  real 
man  as  he  was,  with  all  his  haughty  egotism,  vainglory, 
and  vice,  vice  in  which  he  took  more  pride  than  shame. 
Perhaps  she  had  never  known  him  in  his  actual  character; 
she,  like  other  women  of  her  lofty  and  ardent  type,  had 
no  doubt  set  up  the  hero  of  her  life  as  a  god  in  the 
shrine  of  her  own  holy  and  enthusiastic  imagination,  and 
had  there  endowed  him  with  resplendent  virtues,  which 
he  had  never  once  deemed  it  worth  his  while  to  prac- 
tice. Oh,  the  loving  hearts  of  women!  How  much  men 
have  to  answer  for,  when  they  voluntarily  break  these 
clear  mirrors  of  affection,  wherein  they,  all  unworthy, 
have  been  for  a  time  reflected  angel-wise,  with  all  the 
warmth  and  color  of  an  innocently  adoring  passion  shin- 
ing about  them  like  the  prismatic  rays  in  a  vase  of  pol- 
ished crystal!  To  Niphrata,  Sah-luma  remained  as  a  sort 
of  splendid  divinity,  for  whom  no  devotion  was  too  vasi, 
too  high,  or  too  complete;  better,  oh,  surely  far  better, 
that  she  should  die  in  her  beautiful  self-deception,  ihair 
live  to  see  her  elected  idol  descend  to  his  true  level,  and 


THE   SACRIFICE  379 

cpeniy  display  all  the  weaknesses  of  his  volatile,  flip- 
pant, godless,  sensual,  yet,  alas!  most  fascinating  and 
genius-gifted  nature — a  nature  which,  overflowing  as  it 
was  with  potentialities  of  noble  deeds, yet  lacked  sufficient 
intrinsic  faith  and  force  to  accomplish  them!  This  thought 
stung  Theos  like  a  sharp  arrow-prick,  and  filled  him 
with  a  strange,  indescribable  penitence  ;  and  he  stood  in 
dumb  misery,  remorsefully  eyeing  his  friend's  conster- 
nation, disappointment  and  pained  bewilderment,  with- 
out being  able  to  offer  him  the  slightest  consolation. 

Sah-luma  was  indeed  the  very  picture  of  dismay;  if  he 
had  never  stinered  in  his  life  before,  surely  he  suffered 
now!  Niphrata,  the  tender,  the  humbly  adoring  Niph- 
rata  positively  rejected  him,  refused  to  recognize  his 
actual  presence,  and  turned  insanely  away  from  him  to- 
ward some  dream-ideal  Sah-luma,  who,  she  fancied 
could  only  be  found  in  that  unexplored  country  bordered 
by  the  cold  river  of  Death!  Meanwhile,  the  silence  in 
the  temple  was  intense;  the  priests  were  like  so  many 
wax  figures  fastened  in  fixed  positions;  the  king,  leaning 
slightly  forward  in  his  chair,  had  the  appearance  of  a 
massively  moulded  image  of  bronze;  and  to  Theos'  over- 
wrought condition  of  mind,  the  only  actually  living 
things  present  seemed  to  be  the  monster  serpent,  v.hose 
scaly  folds  palpitated  visibly  in  the  strong  light,  and 
the  hideous  "eye  of  Raphon"  that  blazed  on  Lysia's 
breast  with  a  menacing  stare,  as  of  a  wrathful  ghoul. 
All  at  once  a  flash  of  comprehension  lightened  the  lau 
reate's  sternly  perplexed  face;  a  bitter  laugh  broke  from 
his  lips. 

"She  has  been  drugged!"  he  cried  fiercely,  pointing 
to  Niphrata's  white  and  rigid  form,  "poisoned  by  some 
deadly  potion,  devised  of  devils  to  twist  and  torture  the 
quivering  centers  of  the  brain  !  Accursed  work!  Will 
none  undo  it?"  and  springing  forward  nearer  the  shrine, 
he  raised  his  angry,  impassioned  eyes  to  the  dark,  in- 
scrutable ones  of  the  high-priestess,  who  met  his  troubled 
look  with  serene  and  irresponsive  gravity.  "Is  there 
no  touch  of  human  pity  in  things  divine,  no  mercy  in 
the  icy  fate  that  rules  our  destinies?  This  child  knows 
naught  of  what  she  dees;  she  hath  been  led  astray  in  a 
moment  of  excitement  and  religious  exaltation  ;  her  mind 
hath  lost  its  balance  ;  her  thoughts  float  disconnectedly 


380  "ARDATH" 

on  a  sea  of  vague  illusions!  Ah,  by  the  gods!  I  i  ndei 
stand  it  all  now!"  arid  he  suddenly  threw  himself  v  n  ni'5 
knees,  his  appealing  gaze  resting,  not  on  the  snaKe-d(;- 
ity,  but  on  the  lovely  countenance  of  Lysia,  fait  ar/(( 
brilliant  as  a  summer  morn,  with  a  certain  waveiir,<; 
light  of  triumph  about  it,  like  the  reflected  radiants 
of  sunbeams.  "She  is  under  the  influence  of  R.iphoni 
O  withering  madness!  O  cureless  misery!  She  h,  rultcf 
by  that  most  horrible  secret  force,  unknown  as  yet  t\> 
the  outer  world  of  men,  and  she  hears  things  that  aic 
not,  and  sees  what  has  no  existence!  O  Lysia,  daughte/ 
of  the  sun!  I  do  beseech  thee,  by  all  the  inborn  gentlt- 
ness  of  womanhood,  unwind  the  mystic  spell!" 

A  serious  smile  of  feigned  sorrowful  compassion  partecf 
the  beautiful  lips  of  the  priestess;  but  she  gave  no  word 
or  sign  in  answer;  and  the  weird  jewel  on  her  breast  at 
that  moment  shot  forth  a  myriad  scintillations  as  of 
pointed  sharp  steel.  Some  extraordinary  power  in  it  or 
in  Lysia  herself  was  manifestly  at  work,  for  with  a  vio- 
lent start  Sah-luma  rose  from  his  knees,  and  staggered 
helplessly  backward,  one  hand  pressed  to  his  eyes  as 
though  to  shut  out  some  blinding  blaze  of  lightning.  He 
seemed  to  be  vagusly  groping  his  way  to  his  former  place 
beside  the  king,  and  Theos  seeing  this,  quickly  caught 
him  by  the  arm  and  drew  him  thither,  whispering  anx- 
iously the  while: 

"Sah-luma!  Sah-luma!    what  ails  thee?' 

The  laureate  turned  upon  him  a  bewildered,  piteoas 
face,  white  with  an  intensity  of  speechless  anguish. 

"Nothing!"  he  faltered,  "nothing!  'Tisover,  the  child 
must  die!"  Then  all  suddenly  the  hard  drawn  lines  of 
his  countenance  relaxed;  great  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes, 
and  fell  slowly  one  by  one,  and  moving  aside,  he  shrank 
away  as  far  as  possible  into  the  shadow  cast  by  a  huge 
column  close  by.  "O  Niphrata!  Niphrata!  '  Theos 
heard  him  say  in  a  voice  broken  by  despair,  "why  do  I 
love  thee  only  now,  now,  when  thou  art  lost  to  me  for- 
ever?" 

The  king  looked    after  him  half  compassionately,  half 
sullenly;  but  presently  paid  no  further  heed  to    his  dis- 
tress.     Theos,  however,  kept  near  him,  whispering  what 
ever  poor  suggestions    of    comfort    he    could,  in  the  e -;- 
tre.TUty  of  his  own  grief,  dsvjse — a  hopeless  task,  for  to 


THE  SACRIFICE  381 

all  his  offered  solace  Sah-luma  made  but  the  one  reply: 

"Oh,  1st  me  weep!  Let  me  weep  for  the  untimely 
death  of  innocence! 

And  now  the  cithern-playing,  which  had  ceased,  com- 
menced again,  accompanied  by  the  mysterious,  thrilling 
bass  notes  of  the  invisible  organ-like  instrument,  whose 
sound  resembled  the  roll  and  rush  of  huge  billows  break- 
ing into  foam.  As  the  rich  and  solemn  strains  swept 
grandly  through  the  spacious  temple,  Niphrata  stretched 
out  her  hands  toward  the  high-priestess,  a  smile  of  won- 
derful beauty  lighting  up  her  fair  child-face. 

"Take  me,  O  ye  immortal  gods!"  she  cried,  her  voice 
ringing  in  clear  tune  above  all  the  other  music,  "take 
me,  and  bear  me  away  on  your  strong,  swift  wings  to  the 
everlasting  palaces  of  air,  wherein  all  sorrows  have  end, 
and  patient  love  meets  at  last  its  long-delayed  reward! 
Take  me— for  lo!  I  am  ready  to  depart!  My  soul  is 
wounded,  and  weary  of  its  prison;  it  struggles  to  be 
free!  O  destiny,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  mercy!  I  praise 
thee  for  the  glory  thou  dost  here  unveil  before  mine  eyes! 
Pardon  my  sins!  accept  my  life!  sanctify  my  love!" 

A  murmur  of  relief  and  rejoicing  ran  rippling  through 
the  listening  crowds;  a  weight  seemed  lifted  from  their 
minds;  the  victim  was  willing  to  die  after  all!  the  sac- 
rifice would  be  proceeded  with.  There  was  a  slight 
pause,  during  which  lha  priests  crossed  and  repressed 
the  sanctuary  many  times,  one  of  them  descending  the 
steps  to  tie  Niphrata' s  hands  behind  her  back  as  beiore. 
In  the  immediate  interest  of  the  moment,  Sah-luma  and 
his  hot  interference  seemed  to  be  almost  forgotten.  A 
few  people,  indeed,  cast  injured  and  indignant  looks 
toward  the  corner  where  he  leaned  dejectedly,  and  once 
the  wrinkled,  malicious  head  of  old  Zabastes  peered  at 
him  with  an  expression  of  incredulous  amazement,  but 
otherwise  no  sympathy  was  manifested  by  any  one  for 
the  popular  laureate's  suffering  and  discomfiture.  He 
was  the  nation's  puppet;  its  tame  bird,  whose  business 
was  to  sing  when  hidden— but  he  was  not  expected  to 
have  any  voice  in  matters  of  religion  or  policy,  and  still 
less  was  he  supposed  to  intrude  any  of  his  own  personal 
griefs  on  the  public  notice.  Let  him  sing!  and  sing 
well,  that  was  enough;  but  let  him  dare  to  be  afflicted, 
and  annoy  others  with  his  wants  and  troubles,  why  then 


3^*  "AfcDATH" 

he  at  once  became  uninteresting!  he  might  even  die  for 
all  anybody  cared!  This  was  the  unspoken,  sullen 
thought  that  Theos,  sensitive  to  the  core  on  his  friend's 
behalf,  instinctively  felt  to  be  smouldering  in  the  heart 
of  the  mighty  multitude,  and  he  resented  the  half  im- 
plied, latent  ungratefulness  of  the  people  with  all  his 
soul. 

"Fools!"  he  muttered  under  his  breath,  "for  you,  and 
such  as  you,  the  wisest  sages  toil  in  vain!  Ou  you  Art 
wastes  her  treasures  of  suggestive  loveliness!  low  grov- 
elers  in  earth,  ye  have  no  eyes  for  heaven!  O  ignorant 
ungenerous,  fickle  hypocrites,  whose  ruling  passion  is 
the  greed  of  gold!  Why  should  great  men  perish,  that 
ye  may  live?  And  yet— your  acclamations  make  up  the 
thing  called  fame!  Fame?  Good  God!  'tis  a  brief  shout 
in  the  universal  clamor,  scarce  heard  and  soon  forgotten!" 

And  filled  with  strange  bitterness,  he  gazed  disconso- 
lately at  Niphrata,  who  stood  like  one  in  a  trance  of  ec- 
stasy, patently  awaiting  her  doom,  her  lovely,  innocent 
blue  eyes  gladly  upturned  to  the  long,  jewel-like  head 
of  Nagaya,  which,  twined  round  the  summit  of  the  ebony 
staff,  seemed  to  peer  down  at  her  in  a  sort  of  drowsy 
reflectiveness.  Then,  all  suddenly,  Lysia  spoke— how 
enchanting  was  the  exquisite  modulation  of  that  slow 
languid,  silvery  voice! 

"Come  hither,  O  maiden  fair,  pure,  and  faithful! 

The  desire  of  thy  soul  is  granted! 
Before  thee  are  the  gates  of  the  Unknown  World! 

Already  they  open  to  admit  thee; 

Through  their  golden  bars  gleam  the  glory  of  thy  future' 
Speak!     What  seest  thou?" 

A  moment  of  breathless  silence  ensued;  all  present 
seemed  to  be  straining  their  ears  to  catch  the  victim's 
answer.  It  came,  soft  and  clear  as  a  bell : 

I  see  a  wondrous  land,  o'er^canopied  with  skies  of 
gold  and  azure  ;  white  flowers  grow  in  the  fragrant  fields- 
there  are  many  trees,  I  hear  the  warbling  of  many  birds' 
J  see  fair  faces  that  smile  upon  me,  and  gentle  hands 
that  beckon:  Figures  that  wear  glistening  robes,  and 
carry  garlands  of  roses  and  myrtle,  pass  slowly,  singin« 
as  they  go!  How  beautiful  they  are!  How  strangel 
bow  sweet!" 

And  as  she  uttered  these  words,  in  accents  cf  dreamy 


THE   SACRIFICE  383 

delight,  she  ascended  the  first  step  of  the  shrine.   Theos, 
looking,  held  his  breath  in  wonder  and  fear,  while  Sah 
luma,  with  a  groan,  turned  himself  resolutely  away,  and, 
pressing  his  forehead  against  the  great  column  where  he 
stood,  hid  his  eyes  in  his  clasped  hands. 
The  high-priestess  continued: 

"Come  hither,  O  maiden  of  chaste  and  patient  life! 
Rejoice  greatly,  for  thy  virtue  hath  pleased  the  gods: 
The  undiscovered  marvels  of  the  stars  are  thine, 
Earth  has  no  more  control  over  thee: 
Heaven  is  thine  absolute  heritage! 
Behold!  the  Ship  of  the  Sun  awaits  thee! 
Speak!     What  seest  thou?" 

A  soft  cry  of  rapture  came  from  the  girl's  lips. 

"Oh,  I  see  glory  everywhere!"  she  exclaimed,  "light 
everywhere!  peace  everywhere!  O  joy,  joy!  The  face  of 
my  beloved  shines  upon  me;  he  calls,  he  bids  me  come 
to  him!  Ah!  we  shall  be  together  at  last;  we  twain 
shall  be  as  one,  never  to  part,  never  to  doubt,  never  to 
suffer  more!  Oh,  let  me  hasten  to  him!  Why  should 
I  linger  thus,  when  I  would  fain  be  gone!" 

And  she  sprang  eagerly  up  the  second  and  third  steps 
of  the  sanctuary,  and  faced  Lysia,  her  head  thrown  back, 
her  blue  eyes  ablaze  with  excitement,  her  bosom  heaving, 
and  her  delicate  features  transfigured  and  illumined  by 
unspeakable,  inward,  delirious  bliss.  Just  then  the  priest 
Zel  lifted  the  long,  jeweled-hilted  knife  from  the  black 
cushion  where  it  had  lain  till  now,  and  crouching  stealth- 
ily in  the  shadow  behind  Lysia,  held  it  in  both  hands, 
pointed  straight  forward  in  a  level  line  with  Niphrata's 
breast.  Thus  armed,  he  waited,  silent  and  immovable. 

A  slight  shudder  of  morbid  expectancy  seemed  to  quiver 
through  the  vast  congregation,  but  Theos'  nerves  were 
strung  up  to  such  a  pitch  of  frenzied  horror  that  he  could 
neither  speak  nor  sigh.  Motionless  as  a  statue,  he  could 
only  watch,  with  freezing  blood,  each  detail  of  the  extra- 
ordinary scene.  Once  more  the  high  priestess  spoke: 

"Come  hither,  O  happy  maiden  whose  griefs  are  ended: 
The  day  of  thy  triumph  and  reward  has  dawned!  ^ 
For  thee  the  immortals  unveil  the  mysteries  of  being, 
To  thee  they  openly  declare  all  secrets. 
To  thee  the  hidden  things  of  wisdom  are  made  manifest: 
For  the  last  time  ere  thou  leavest  U3,  hear,  a.nd  Answer, 
Speak!     What  seest  tbou?" 


"ARDATH" 

"LOVE!"  replied  Niphrata  in  a  tone  ot  thrilling  and 
soiemn  tenderness,  "LOVE,  the  eternal  all,  in  which  dark 
things  are  made  light!  LOVE,  that  is  never  served  in 
vain!  LOVE,  wherein  lost  happiness  is  rediscovered  and 
perfected!  O  DIVINE  LOVE,  by  whom  the  passion  of 
my  heart  is  sanctified!  Absorb  me  in  the  quenchless 
glory  of  thine  immortality!  Draw  me  to  thyself,  and  let 
me  find  in  thee  my  soul's  completion!" 

Her  voice  sank  to  a  low,  prayerful  emphasis;  her  look 
was  as  of  a  rapt  angel  waiting  for  wings.  Lysia's  gaze 
dwelt  upon  her  with  slow-dilating  wonder  and  contempt: 
such  a  devout  and  earnest  supplication  was  evidently 
not  commonly  heard  from  the  lips  of  Nagaya's  victims. 
At  that  instant,  too,  Nagaya  himself  seemed  curiously 
excited  and  disturbed;  his  great,  glittering  coils  quivered 
so  violently  as  to  shake  the  rod  on  which  he  was  twined, 
and  when  his  priestess  raised  her  mesmeric,  reproving 
eyes  toward  him,  he  bent  his  head  rebelliously,  and  sent 
a  vehement  hiss  through  the  silence,  like  the  noise  made 
by  the  whirl  of  a  scirniter. 

Suddenly,  and  with  deafening  abruptness,  a  clap  of 
thunder,  short  and  sharp  as  a  quick  volley  of  musketry, 
crashed  overhead,  accompanied  by  a  strange,  circular 
sweep  of  lightning  that  blazed  through  the  windows  of 
the  temple,  illumining  it  from  end  to  end  with  a  bril- 
liant blue  glare.  The  superstitious  crowds  exchanged 
starUed  looks  of  terror;  the  king  moved  uneasily  and 
glanced  frowningly  about  him;  it  was  plainly  manifest 
that  no  one  had  forgotten  the  disastrous  downfall  of  the 
obelisk,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  contagion  of  alarm  in 
the  very  air.  But  Lysia  was  perfectly  self-possessed; 
in  fact  she  appeared  to  accept  the  threat  of  a  storm  as 
an  imposing  and  by  no  means  undesirable  adjunct  to  the 
mysteries  of  the  sacrificial  rite,  for,  riveting  her  basi- 
lisk eyes  on  Niphrata,  she  said  in  firm,  clear,  decisive 
accents: 

"The  gods  grow  impatient!  Wherefore,  O  princes  and 
people  of  Al-Kyris,  let  us  hasten  to  appease  their  anger! 
Depart,  O  stainless  maid!  depart  hence,  and  betake  thee 
tj  the  golden  throne  of  the  Sun,  our  lord  and  ruler!  and, 
in  ihs  name  of  Nagaya,  may  tne  shedding  of  thy  virginal 
blood  avert  from  us  and  ours  the  wrath  of  the  immortals! 
Linger  no  longer;  Nagaya  accepts  thee  and  the  hour 
strikes  death*" 


TttE  CUt   OF  WRATH   AND  TREMBLING  385. 

! 

With  the  last  word,  a  sullen  bell  boomed  heavily 
through  and  through  the  temple,  and  at  once,  like  a  fren- 
zied bird  or  butterfly  winging  its  way  into  scorching 
flame,  Niphrata  rushed  forward  with  swift,  unhesitating, 
dreadful  precision  straight  on  the  knife  outheld  by  the 
untrembling,  ruthless  .hands  of  the  priest  Zel!  One  sec- 
ond, and  Theos,  sick  with  horror,  saw  her  speeding  thus; 
the  next— and  the  whole  place  was  enveloped  in  dense 
darknessl 


CHAPTER  XIX.       . 

THE  CUP  OF  WRATH  AND  TREMBLING. 

A  FLASH  of  time,  an  instant  of  black,  horrid  eclipse, 
too  brief  for  the  utterance  of  even  a  word  or  cry — and 
then,  with  an  appalling  roar,  as  of  the  splitting  of  huge 
rocks  and  the  tearing  asunder  of  mighty  mountains,  the 
murky  gloom  was  lifted,  rent,  devoured,  and  swept  away 
on  all  sides  by  a  sudden  bursting-forth  of  fire!  Fire  leaped 
up  alive  in  twenty  different  parts  of  the  building,  spring- 
ing aloft  in  spiral  coils  from  the  marble  pavement  that 
yawned  crashingly  open  to  give  the  impetuous  flames 
their  rapid  egress.  Fire  climbed  Hthely  round  and  round 
the  immense  carven  columns,  and  ran,  nimbly  dancing 
and  crackling  its  way,  among  the  painted  and  begemmed 
decorations  of  the  dome.  Fire  unfastened  and  shook 
down  the  swinging  lamps,  the  garlands,  the  splendid 
draperies  of  silk  ,and  cloth  of  gold.  Fire— fire  every- 
where! and  the  madly  affrighted  multitude,  stunned  by 
the  abrupt  shock  of  terror,  stood  for  a  second  paralyzed 
and  inert;  then,  with  one  desperate  yell  of  wild  brute 
fear  and  ferocity,  they  rushed  headlong  in  a  struggling, 
shrieking,  cursing,  sweltering  swarm  toward  the  great 
closed  portals  of  the  central  aisle.  As  they  did  so,  a 
tremendous  weight  of  thunder  seemed  to  descend  solidly 
on  the  roof  with  a  thudding  burst  as  though  a  thousand 
walls  had  been  battered  down  at  one  blow;  the  whole 
edifice  rocked  and  trembled  in  the  terrific  reverberation, 
and  almost  simultaneously  the  doors  were  violently  jerked 
open,  wrenched  fror»  their  hinges, and  hurled. all  burning 


38t  "ARDATK'' 

and  split  with  flame,  against  the  forward-fighting  crowds' 
Several  hundreds  fell  under  the  fiery  mass,  a  charred 
heap  of  corpses;  the  raging  remainder  pressed  on  in 
frenzied  hate,  clambering  over  piles  of  burning  dead, 
trampling  on  scorched,  disfigured  faces  that  perhaps  but 
a  moment  since  had  been  dear  tg  them,  each  and  all 
bent  on  forcing  a  way  out  to  the  open  air.  In  the  midst 
of  the  overwhelming  awfulness  of  the  scene,  Theos  still 
retained  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  remember  that, 
whatever  happened,  his  first  care  must  be  for  Sah-luma 
— always  for  Sah-luma,  no  matter  who  else  perished!  and 
he  now  held  that  beloved  comrade  closely  clasped  by  the 
arm,  while  he  eagerly  glanced  about  him  on  every  side 
for  some  outlet  through  which  to  make  a  good  and  swift 
escape. 

The  most  immediate  place  of  safety  seemed  to  be  the 
inner  sanctuary  of  Nagaya ;  it  was  untowched  by  the 
flames,  and  its  titanic  pillars  of  brass  and  bronze  sug- 
gested, in  their  very  massiveness,  a  nearly  impregnable 
harbor  of  refuge.  The  king  had  fled  thither,  and  now 
stood,  like  a  statue  of  undaunted,  gloomy  amazement, 
beside  Lysia,  who  on  her  part  appeared  literally  frozen 
with  terror.  Her  large,  startled  eyes,  roving  here  and 
there  in  helpless  anxiety,  alone  gave  any  animation  to 
the  deathly,  rigid  whiteness  of  her  face,  and  she  still  me- 
chanically supported  the  sacred  ebony  staff,  without  ap- 
parently being  aware  of  the  fact,  that  the  snake  deity, 
convulsed  through  all  his  coils  with  fright,  had  begun 
to  make  therefrom  his  rapid  descent.  The  priests,  the 
virgins,  the  poor  unhappy  little  singing  children  flocked 
hurriedly  together,  and  darted  to  the  back  of  the  great 
shrine,  in  the  manifest  intention  of  reaching  some  pri- 
vate way  of  egress  known  only  to  themselves;  but  their 
attempts  were  evidently  frustrated,  for  no  sooner  had 
they  gone  than  they  sped  back  again, their  faces  scorched 
and  blackened,  and,  uttering  cries  and  woeful  lamenta- 
tions, they  flung  themselves  wildly  among  the  struggling 
crowds  in  the  main  body  of  the  temple,  and  fought  for 
life  in  the  jaws  of  death,  every  one  for  self,  and  no  one 
for  another!  Volumes  of  smoke  rolled  up  from  the  ground 
in  thick  and  suffocating  clouds,  accompanied  by  inces- 
sant sharp  reports  like  the  close  firing  of  guns  ;  jets  o/ 
flame  and  showers  of  cirders  broke  forth  fountain-like, 


CUP  OF  WBATH  AND  TREMBLING  387 

scattering  hot  destruction  on  every  hand,while  a  few  fly- 
ing  sparks  caught  the  end  of  the  "silver  veil"  and  withered 
it  into  nothingness  with  one  bright,  resolute  flare! 

Half  maddened  by  the  shrieks  and  dying  groans  that  re- 
sounded everywhere  about  him,  and  yet  all  the  time  feel- 
ing as  though  he  were  some  spectator  set  apart,  and  con- 
demned to  watch  the  progress  of  a  ghastly  phantasma- 
goria in  hell,  Theos  was  just  revolving  in  his  mind 
whether  it  would  not  be  possible  to  make  a  determined 
climb  for  escape  through  one  of  the  tall  painted  windows, 
some  of  which  vere  not  yet  reached  by  the  fire,  when, 
with  a  sudden,  passionate  exclamation,  Sah-luma  broke 
horn  his  hold  and  rushed  to  the  sanctuary.  Quick  as 
lightning,  Theos  followed  him— followed  him  close,  as 
he  sprang  up  the  steps  and  confronted  Lysia  with  eager, 
outstretched  arms.  The  dead  Niphrata  lay  near  him, 
fair  as  a  sculptured  saint,  with  the  cruel  wound  of  sacri- 
fice in  her  breast,  but  he  seemed  not  to  see  that  piteous 
corpse  of  faithfulness!  His  grief  for  her  death  had  been 
a  mere  transient  emotion;  his  stronger  earthly  passions 
reasserted  their  tempestuous  sway,  and  for  sweet  things 
perished  and  gone  to  heaven  he  had  no  further  care.  On 
Lysia,  and  on  Lysia's  living  beauty  alone,  his  eyes  flamed 
their  ardent  glory. 

"Come!  come!"  he  cried,  "come,  my  love— my  life. 
Let  me  save  thee!  Or,  if  I  cannot  save  thee,  let  us  die 
together  1" 

Scarcely  had  the  words  left  his  lips,  when  the  king, 
with  a  swift  forward  movement  like  the  pounce  of  some 
desert  panther, turned  fiercely  upon  him;  amazement,  jeal- 
ousy, distrust,  revenge,  all  gathering  storm ily  in  the 
black  frown  of  his  bent,  vindictive  brows.  His  great 
chest  heaved  pantingly;  his  teeth  glittered  wolfishly 
through  his  jetty  beard,  and,  in  the  terrible  nerve  ten- 
sion of  the  moment,  the  fury  of  the  spreading  conflagra- 
tion was  forgotten,  at  any  rate  by  Theos,  who,  stricken 
numb  and  rigid  by  a  shock  of  alarm  too  poignant  for  ex- 
pression, stared  aghast  at  the  three  figures  before  him — 
Sah-luma,  Lysia,  Zephoranim  —  especially  Zephoranim, 
whose  bursting  wrath  threatened  to  choke  his  utterance. 
"Wkat  sayest  thou,  Sah-luma?"  he  deman  V3  in  a 
precious,  gasping  whisper.  "Repeat  thy  words i 
Repeat 'them!"  and  his  hand  clutched  at  his  dagger-hiltt 


388  "AkDATH" 

while  his  restless,  lowering  glance  fiasned  from  Lysia 
to  the  laureate,  and  from  the  laureate  back  to  Lysia 
again.  "Death  encompasses  us;  this  is  no  time  for  trifling! 
Speak  1"  and  his  voice  suddenly  rose  to  a  frantic  shout 
of  rage — "Speak!  What  is  this  woman  to  thee?" 

"Everything!"  returned  Sah-luma  with  prompt  and 
passionate  fearlessness,  his  glorious  eyes  blazing  a 
proud  defiance  as  he  spoke;  "everything  that  woman 
can  be,  or  ever  shall  be,  unto  man!  Call  her  by  what- 
soever name  a  foolish  creed  enjoins — virgin-daughter  of 
the  sun,  or  high-priestess  of  Nagaya — she  is  neverthe- 
less mine!  and  mine  only!  I  am  her  lover!" 

"THOU!"  and  with  a  hoarse  cry  Zephoranim  sprang 
upon  and  seized  him  by  the  throat.  "Thou  liest!  I— 1, 
crowned  king  of  Al-Kyris,  /am  her  lover!  chosen  by  her 
out  of  all  men!  and  dost  thou  dare  to  pretend  that  she 
hath  preferred  thee,  a  mere  singer  of  mad  songs,  to  me? 
Thou  unscrupulous  knave!  I  tell  thee  she  is  mine!  Dost 
hear  me?  Mine,  mine,  mine/"  and  he  shrieked  the  last 
word  out  in  a  perfect  hurricane  of  passion.  "My  queen! 
my  mistress!  heart  of  my  heart!  soul  of  my  soul!  Let 
the  city  burn  to  ashes,  and  the  whole  land  be  utterly 
consumed  ;  in  death  as  in  life  Lysia  is  mine!  and  the  gods 
themselves  shall  never  part  her  from  me!" 

And  suddenly  releasing  his  grasp,  he  hurled  Sah-luma 
away  as  he  might  have  hurled  aside  a  toy  figure,  and  a 
peal  of  reckless,  musical  laughter  echoed  mockingly 
through  the  vaulted  shrine.  It  was  Lysia's  laughter!  and 
Theos'  blood  grew  cold  as  he  heard  its  cruel,  silvery 
ring — even  so  had  sha  laughed  when  Nir-jalis  died! 

Sah-luma  reeled  backward  from  the  king's  thrust,  but 
did  not  fall;  white  and  trembling,  with  his  sad  and 
splendid  features  frozen,  as  it  were,  into  a  sculptured 
mask  of  agonized  beauty,  he  turned  upon  the  treach- 
erous woman  he  loved,  the  silent  challenge  of  his 
eloquent  eyes.  Oh,  that  look  of  piteous  pain  and  won- 
der! a  whole  life-time's  wasted  opportunities  seemed 
concentrated  in  its  unspeakable  reproach !  She  met  it 
with  a  sort  of  triumphant,  tranquil  indifference;  an  un- 
coa  .tollable  wicked  smile  curved  the  corners  of  her  red 
lips;  the  sacred  ebony  staff  had  somehow  slipped  from 
h  ;r  hands,  and  it  now  lay  on  the  ground,  the  half  un- 
coiled serpent  still  clinging  to  it,  in  glittering  lengths 
appeared  $o  fee  quit*  tnofrjonlesa 


THE   CUP  OF  WRATH  A3D   TREMBLING  389 

"Ail,  Lysia,  hast  thou  played  me  false!"  cried  the  un- 
iiappy  laureate  at  last,  as  with  a  quick,  impulsive  move- 
ment he  caught  her  round,  jeweled  arm  in  a  resolute 
grip,  "alter  all  thy  vows,  thy  endearments,  thy  embraces, 
hast  thou  betrayed  me?  Speak  truly!  Art  thou  net  all 
in  all  to  me;  hast  thou  not  given  thyself,  body  and  soul, 
into  my  keeping?  To  this  braggart  king  I  deign  no  an- 
swer—one word  of  thine  will  suffice!  Be  brave,  be 
faithful!  Declare  thy  love  for  me,  even  as  thou  hast 
oft  declared  it  a  thousand  remembered  times!" 

Over  the  face  of  the  beautiful  priestess  swept  a  strange 
expression  of  mingled  fear,  antagonism,  loathing,  and 
exultation.  Her  eyes  wandered  to  the  red-tongued,  leap- 
ing flames  that  tossed  in  eddying  rings  round  the  temple, 
running  every  second  nearer  to  the  place  where  she  stood, 
and  in  that  one  glance  she  seemed  to  recognize  the  hope- 
lessness of  rescue  and  certainty  of  death.  A  careless. 
haughty  acceptance  of  her  fate  manifested  itself  in  the 
pallid  resolve  of  her  drawn  features,  but  as  she  allowtj 
her  gaze  to  return  and  dwell  on  Sah-luma,  the  old  mali- 
cious mirth  flashed  and  gave  luster  to  her  loveliness,  and 
she  laughed  again— a  laugh  of  uttermost,  bitter  scorn. 

"Declare  my  love  for  thee!"  she  said  in  thrilling  ac- 
cents. 'Thou  boaster!  Let  the  gods,  who  have  kindled 
this  fiery  end  for  us,  bear  witness  to  my  hatred!  I  hate 
thee!  Ay,  even  thee!"  and  she  pointed  at  him  jeeringly, 
a  he  recoiled  from  her  in  wide-eyed  anguish  and  amaze- 
u.ent.  "No  man  have  I  ever  loved,  but  thee  have  I 
hated  most  of  all!  All  men  have  I  despised  for  their 
folly,  greed  and  vain-glory;  I  have  fought  them  with 
their  own  weapons  of  avarice,  cunning,  cruelty,  and  false- 
hood, but  thou  hast  been  even  beneath  my  contempt! 
'Twas  scarcely  worth  my  while  to  fool  thee,  thou  wert 
so  easily  fooled!  'Twas  idle  sport  to  rouse  thy  passions, 
they  were  so  easily  roused!  Poet  and  perjurer— singer 
and  sophist!  Thou  to  whom  the  genius  of  poesy  was  as 
a  pearl  set  in  a  swine's  snout!  thou  wert  not  worthy  to 
be  my  dupe,  seeing  that  thou  earnest  to  me  already  in 
bonds,  the  dupe  of  thine  own  self!  Niphrata  loved  thee, 
and  thou  didst  play  with  and  torture  her  more  unmerci- 
fully than  wild  beasts  play  with  and  torture  their  prey; 
but  thou  couldst  never  trifle  with  me!  O  thou  who  hast 
-aken  such  pride  in  the  breaking  of  many  women's  hearts, 


learn  that  thou  hast  never  stirred  one  throt  ol  passion 
in  mine!  that  I  have  loathed  thy  beauty  while  caressing 
thee,  and  longed  to  slay  thee  while  embrac:ng  thee!  and 
that  even  now  I  would  I  saw  thee  dead  before  me,  ere  I 
myself  am  forced  to  die!" 

Pausing  in  the  swift  torrent  of  her  words,  her  white 
breast  heaved  violently  with  the  rise  and  fall  of  her 
panting  breath;  her  dark,  brilliant  eyes  dilated,  while 
the  symbolic  jewel  she  wore,  and  the  crown  of  serpents' 
heads  in  her  streaming  hair,  seemed  to  glitter  about  her 
like  so  many  points  of  lightning.  At  that  instant  one 
side  of  the  sanctuary  split  asunder,  giving  way  to  a  burst- 
ing wreath  of  flames.  Seeing  this,  sne  uttered  a  pierc- 
ing cry,  and  stretched  out  her  arms; 

"Zephoranim!  Save  me!" 

In  a  second,  the  king  sprang  toward  her,  but  not  be- 
fore Sah-luma,  wild  with  wrath,  nad  interposed  himself 
between  them. 

"Back!"  he  exclaimed  passionately,  addressing  the 
infuriated  monarch.  "While  I  live,  Lysia  is  mine!  let 
her  hate  and  deny  me  as  she  will !  and  sooner  than  see 
her  in  thine  arms,  O  king,  I  will  slay  her  where  she 
stands!" 

His  bold  attitude  was  magnificent;  his  countenance 
more  than  beautiful  in  its  love-betrayed  despair,  and  for 
a  moment  the  savage  Zephoranim  paused  irresolute,  his 
scowling  brows  bent  on  his  erstwhile  favorite  minstrel 
with  an  expression  that  hovered  curiously  between  bit- 
terest enmity  and  reluctant  reverence.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  struggling  consciousness  in  his  mind,  of  the  im- 
mortality of  a  poet  as  compared  with  the  evanescent 
power  of  a  king,  and  also  a  quick  realization  of  the  truth 
that,  let  his  anger  be  what  it  would,  the}'  twain  were 
partakers  in  the  same  evil,  and  were  mutually  deceived 
by  the  same  false  woman!  But  ere  his  saving  sense  of 
justice  could  prevail,  a  ripple  of  discordant,  delirious 
laughter  broke  once  more  from  Lysia's  lips;  her  eyes 
shone  vindictively,  her  whole  face  became  animated  with 
a  sudden  glow  of  fiendish  triumph. 

"Zephoranim!"  she  cried,  "hero!  warrior!  king!  thou 
who  hast  risked  thy  crown  and  throne  and  life  for  my 
sake  and  the  love  of  me!  Wilt  lose  me  now?  Wilt  let 
me  perish  in  these  raging  flames,  to  satisfy  this  wanton 


THE  COP  OF  WRATH  AND  TREMBLING  39 l 

liar  and  unbeliever  in  the  gods,  to  whose  disturbance  of  , 
the  holy  ritual  we  surely  owe  this  present  fiery  disaster! 
Save  me,  O  strong    and    noble    Zephoranim!     Save  me, 
and  with  me  save  the    city    and    the    people!     A///  Sah- 

luma!" 

O  barbarous, inexorable  words!  they  rang  like  a  desolat- 
in*  knell  in  the  ears  of  the  bewildered,  fear-stiicken 
Tl°eos,  and  startled  him  from  his  rigid  trance  of  speech- 
less misery.  Uttering  an  inarticulate  dull  groan,  he  made 
a  violent  effort  to  rush  forward— to  serve  as  a  living 
shield  of  defense  to  his  adored  friend,  to  ward  off  the 
imminent  blow!  Too  late!  too  late!  Zephoramm's  dag- 
ger glittered  in  air,  and  rapidly  descended.  One  gasping 
cry'  and  Sah-luma  lay  prone,  beautiful  as  a  slam  Adonis, 
the  rich  red  blood  pouring  from  his  heart,  and  a  faint, 
stern  smile  frozen  on  the  proud  lips  whose  dulcet  singing- 
speech  was  now  struck  dumb  forever!  With  a  shriek  of 
agony,  Theos  threw  himself  beside  his  murdered  com- 
rade; heedless  of  king,  priestess,  flames,  and  all  the  out- 
breaking fury  of  earth  and  heaven,  he  bent  above 
motionless  form,  and  gazed  yearningly  into  the  fair, col- 
orless face. 

"Sah-luma!     Sah-luma!" 

No  sign!  No  tremulous  stir  of  breath!  Dead— dead- 
dead  in  his  prime  of  years,  dead  in  the  zenith  of  his 
glory!  all  the  delicate,  dreaming  genius  turned  to  dust 
and  ashes!  all  the  ardent  light  of  inspiration  quenched 
in  the  never-lifting  darkness  of  the  grave!  And  iri  the 
first  delirious  paroxysm  of  his  grief  Theos  felt  as  though 
life,  time,  and  the  world  were  ended  for  him  also,  with 
this  one  suddenly  destroyed  existence! 

"O  thou  mad  king!"  he  cried  fiercely,  "thou  hast  slam 
the  chief  wonder  of  thy  realm  and  reign!  Die  now  when 
thou  wilt,  thou  shalt  only  be   remembered    as    the    mit 
derer  of    Sah-luma!     Sah-luma,  whose    name    shall 
when  thine  is  covered  in  shameful  oblivion!" 

Zephoranim  frowned,  and  threw  the  Wood-stained  dag- 
ger from  him.  ,      . 
"Peace,   clamorous   fool!"     he    said.      "Sah-luma   hath 
gone  but  a  moment  before  me;   as  poet  he  hath  received 
precedence  even  in  death!     When    the    last  hour    comes 
ior  all  of  us,  it  matters  not    how  we  die,  and    wheth 
.%  hereafter  remembered  or  forgotten  I  care  not ! 


392  "ARDATH" 

lived  as  a  man  should  live,  fearing  nothing  and  con 
quered  by  none,  except  perchance  by  love  that  hath 
brought  many  kings  ere  now  to  untimely  ruin!"  Here 
his  moody  eyes  lighted  on  Lysia.  "How  many  lovers 
hast  thou  had,  fair  soul?"  he  demanded  in  a  stern  yet 
tremulous  voice.  "A  thousand?  I  would  swear  this  dead 
minstrel  of  mine  was  one,  for  though  I  slew  him  at  thy 
bidding,  I  saw  the  truth  in  his  dying  eyes!  No  matter! 
We  shall  meet  in  Hades,  and  there  we  shall  have  ample 
time  to  urge  our  rival  claims  upon  thy  favor!  Ah!"  and 
he  suddenly  laid  his  two  strong  hands  on  her  white,  un- 
covered shoulders,  and  gazed  at  her  reproachfully  as  she 
shrank  a  little  beneath  his  close  scrutiny,  "thou  divine 
traitress!  Have  I  not  challenged  the  very  heavens  for 
thy  sake?  And  lo!  the  prophecy  is  fulfilled  and  Al-Kyris 
must  fall!  How  many  men  would  have  loved  thee  as  I 
have  loved?  None;  not  even  this  dead  Sah-luma,  slain 
like  a  dog  to  give  thee  pleasure!  Come!  Let  me  kiss 
thee  once  again  ere  death  makes  cold  our  lips!  False 
or  true,  thou  art  nevertheless  fair!  and  the  wrathful  gods 
know  best  how  I  worship  thy  fairness!" 

And  folding  his  arms  about  her,  he  kissed  her  passion- 
ately. She  clung  to  him  like  a  lithe  serpentine  thing; 
her  eyes  ablaze,  her  uiouth  quivering  with  suppressed 
hysterical  laughter.  Pointing  to  Sah-luma' s  body,  she 
said  in  a  strange,  excited  whisper: 

•  "Nay,  hast  thou  slain  him  in  very  truth,  Zephoranim; 
slain  him  utterly?  For  I  have  heard  that  poets  cannot 
die;  they  live  when  the  whole  world  deems  them  daad; 
they  rise  from  their  shut  graves  and  re -in  vest  the  earth 
with  all  the  secrets  of  past  tima.  Oh!  my  brain  reels.  I 
talk  mere  madness;  there  is  no  afterward  of  death!  No, 
no!  No  gods,  no  anything  but  blankness,  forgetfulness, 
and  silence,  for  us  and  for  all  men.  How  good  it  is! 
How  excellently  devised  a  jest,  that  the  whole  wide  uni- 
verse should  be  but  a  cheat  of  time — a  bubble  blown 
into  space,  to  float,  break,  and  perish,  all  for  the  idle 
sport  of  some  unknown  and  shapeless  devil-mystery!" 

Shuddering,  half-laughing,  half-weeping,  she  clasped 
her  hands  round  the  monarch's  throat,  and  hid  her  wild 
eyes  in  his  breast,  while  he,  unnerved  by  her  distraction 
and  his  own  inward  torture,  glared  about  him  on  all  sides 
for  some  glimmsring  chance  of  rescue,  but  could  see 


THE  CUP  OF  WRATH  AND  TREMBLING  .       J93 

none.  The  flames  were  now  attacking  the  shrine  on  every 
side  like  a  besieging  army,  their  leaping  darts  of  b  ue 
and  crimson  gleaming  here  and  there  with  indescribable 
velocity;  and  still  Theos  knelt  by  Sah-luma's  corpse  in 
dry-eyed  despair,  endeavoring  with  feverish  zeal  to  stanch 
the  oozing  blood  with  a  strip  torn  from  his  own  garments, 
and  listening  anxiously  for  the  feeblest  heart-throb,  cr 
smaller  pulsation  of  smouldering  life  in  the  senseless, 
stiffening  clay. 

All  at  once  a    hideous    scream    assailed    his  ears;    an- 
other and  yet  another  rang    above  the   crackling    roar  of 
the  gradually  conquering  fire,  and  half-lifting  Sah-luma's 
body  in  his  arms,  he  looked  up.   O  horror,  horror !     His 
nerves  contracted,  his    blood    seemed    to    turn    to  ice  in 
his  veins,  his  head    swam    giddily,  and    he    thought  the 
moment  of  his  own  death  had  come,  for   surely   no  man 
could  behold  the  sight  he    saw    and  yet   continue  to  live 
on!     Lysia  the  captor  was  made  captive  at  last;  bound, 
helpless,   imprisoned,    and    hopelessly    doomed;  Nagaya 
had  claimed  his  own!     The  huge  snake,  terrified  beyond 
all  control  at  the  bursting  breadth  of  fire  environing  the 
shrine,had  turned  in  its  brute  fear  to  the  mistress  it 
for  years  been  accustomed  to  obey, and  had  now, with  one 
stealthy,  noiseless    spring,    twisted    its    uppermost    coil 
close  about  her  waist,  where    its    restless    head,  alarmed 
eyes,  and  darting  fangs  all  glistened  together  like  a  blaz- 
ing cluster  of  gems.      The  more  she  struggled  to  release 
herself  from  its    dreadful    embrace,  the    tighter   its  body 
contracted  and  the    more    maddened    with    fright   it  be- 
came.      Shriek    upon    shriek    broke    from    her    lips  and 
pierced  the  suffocating  air,  while  with  all  his  great  mus- 
cular force    Zephoranim,    the    king,   strove    in    desperate 
agony  to  tear  her  from  the  awful    clutch  of    the  monster 
he  had  but  lately  knelt  to   as  divine.      In  vain,  in    vain! 
The  strongest  efforts  were    useless;  the   cruel,  beautiful, 
pitiless  priestess  of  Nagaya  was  condemned  to  suffer  the 
same  frightful  death  she  had  so  often  mercilessly  decreed 
for  others!     Closer  and  closer  grew  the    fearful  python's 
constricting  clasp;  nearer  and  nearer  swept    the  dancing 
battalion    of  destroying  flames!      For  one  fleeting  breath 
of  time,  Theos  stared  aghast  at    the  horrid    scene;    then 
making  a  superhuman  effort,  he  raised  Sah-iuma's  corpse 
entirely  from  the  ground  and  staggered    with    his  burden 


ARDATH:i 


away  —  away  from  the  burning    shrine,  the    funeral  pyre, 
as  it  vaguely  seemed  to  him,  of  a  wasted  love  and  a  dead 

passion! 

• 


Whither  should  he  go?  Down  into  the  blazing  area  of 
the  fast  perishing  temple?  Surely  no  safety  could  be 
found  there,  where  the  fire  was  raging  at  its  utmost  height; 
yet  he  went  on  mechanically,  as  though  urged  forward 
by  some  force  superior  to  his  own,  always  clinging  to 
the  idea  that  his  friend  still  lived,  and  that  if  he  could 
only  reach  some  place  of  temporary  shelter  he  might  yet 
be  able  to  restore  him.  It  was  possible  the  wound  was 
not  fatal  ;  far  more  possible  to  his  mind  than  that  so 
gloriously  famed  a  poet  should  be  dead! 

So  he  dimly  thought,  while  he  stumbled  dizzily  along, 
his  forehead  wet  with  clammy  dews,  his  limbs  trembling 
under  the  weight  he  bore,  his  eyes  half-blinded  by  the 
hot,  flying  sparks  and  drifting  smoke,  and  his  soul  shaken 
and  appalled  by  the  ghastly  sights  that  met  his  view 
wheresoever  he  turned.  Crushed  and  writhing  bodies  of 
men,  women,  and  children,  half  living,  half  dead,  heaps 
of  corpses  fast  blazing  to  ashes,  broken  and  fallen  col- 
umns, yawning  gaps  in  the  ground  from  which  were  cast 
forth  volleys  of  red  cinders  and  streams  of  lava;  all  these 
multitudinous  horrors  surrounded  him,  as  wifh  uncertain, 
faltering  steps  he  moved  on,  like  a  sick  man  walking  in 
sleep,  carrying  his  precious  burden.  He  knew  nothing 
of  where  he  was  bound;  he  saw  no  outlet  anywhere,  no 
corner  wherein  the  fire-fiend  had  not  set  up  devouring 
dominion;  but,  nevertheless,  he  steadily  continued  his 
difficult  progress,  clasping  Sah-luma's  corpse  with  a 
strange  tenacity,  and  concentrating  all  his  attention  on 
protecting  it  from  the  withering  touch  of  the  ravenous 
flames.  All  at  once,  as  he  strove  to  force  his  way  over  a 
fallen  altar  from  which  the  hideous,  presiding  stone  idol 
had  toppled  headlong,  killing  in  its  descent  some  twenty 
or  thirty  people  whose  bodies  lay  crushed  beneath  it,  a 
face  horribly  disfigured  and  tortured  into  a  mere  burnt 
sketch  of  its  former  likeness  twisted  itself  up  and  peered 
at  him  —  the  face  of  Zabastes,  the  critic.  His  protruding 


•"/•HE   CUP  OF  WRATH  AND  TREMBLING  395 

eyes  glistened  with  something  of  their  old  malign  ex- 
pression as  he  perceived  whose  helpless  form  it  was  that 
was  being  carried  by. 

"What!  is  the  famous  Sah-luma  gone?"  he  gasped, 
his  words  half  choking  him  in  their  utterance,  as  he 
stretched  out  a  skinny  hand  and  caught  at  Thecs'  gar- 
ments. "Good  youth,  stay,  stay!  Why  burden  thyself 
with  a  corpse  when  thou  mightest  rescue  a  living  man? 
Save  me!  Save  me!  I  was  the  poet's  adverse  critic; 
and  who  but  I  should  write  his  eulogy  now  that  he  is 
no  more?  Pity,  pity,  most  courteous,  gentle  sir!  Save 
me,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  Sah-luma' s  future  honor! 
Thou  knowest  not  how  warmly,  how  generously,  how 
nobly,  I  can  praise  the  dead!" 

Theos  gazed  down  upon  him  in  unspeakable,  melan- 
choly scorn;  was  it  only  through  time-serving  creatures 
such  as  this  miserable  Zabastes,  that  the  after-glory  of 
perished  poets  was  proclaimed  to  the  world?  What,  then, 
was  the  actual  worth  of  fame? 

Shuddering,  he  wrenched  himself  away,  and  passed  on 
silently,  heedless  of  the  savage  curses  the  despairing 
scribe  yelled  after  him  as  he  went,  and  he  involuntarily 
pressed  the  dear  corpse  of  his  beloved  friend  closer  to 
his  heart,  as  though  he  thought  he  could  reanimate  it  by 
this  mute  expression  of  tenderness!  Meanwhile  the  fire 
raged  continuously;  the  temple  was  fast  becoming  a  pil- 
lared mass  of  flames,  and  presently,  choked  and  giddy 
with  the  sulphureous  vapors,  he  stopped  abruptly,  strug- 
gling for  breath.  His  time  had  come  at  last,  he  thought; 
he,  with  Sah-luma,  must  die! 

Just  then  a  loud  muttering  and  rolling  of  thunder  swept 
in  eddying  vibrations  round  him,  followed  by  a  -sharp 
splitting  noise;  raising  his  aching  eyes,  he  saw  straight 
before  him  a  yawning,  gloomy  archway,  like  the  solemn 
portal  of  a  funeral  vault,  dark,  yet  with  a  white  glimmer 
of  steps  leading  outward,  and  a  dim  sparkle  as  of  stars 
in  heaven.  A  rush  of  new  vigor  inspired  him  at  this 
sight,  and  he  resumed  his  way,  stumbling  over  countless 
corpses  strewn  among  fallen  blocks  of  marble,  and  every 
now  and  then  looking  back  in  awful  fascination  to  the 
fiery  furnace  of  the  body  of  the  temple,  where,  of  all 
the  vast  numbers  that  had  lately  crowded  it  from  end  to 
end,  there  were  only  a  hundred  or  so  remaining  alive, 


39$  "ARDATH" 

and  these  were  fast  perishing   in    frightful    agony.     The 
shrine  of  Nagaya  was  enveloped  in  thick,    black    smoke, 
crossed  here  and  there  by  flashes  of  tlame;  the  bare  out- 
line of  its  titanic  architecture  was    scarcely    discernible. 
Yet  the  thought  of  the  dreadful  eni  of    Lysia,  the    love- 
liest woman  he  had  ever  seen,    moved    him    now    to  no 
emotion    whatever,    save   gladness.       Some    deadly    evil 
seemed  burnt  out  of    his    life;  moreover,  her    command 
had  slain  Sah-luma!     Enough  ;  no   fate,  however   horri- 
ble, could  be  more  so  than  she    in    her   wanton    wicked- 
ness   deserved!     But   alas!    her   beauty!  He    dared    not- 
think  of  its  subtle,   slumberous  charm;     and,  stung    to  a 
new  sense  of  desperation,  he  plunged   recklessly  toward 
the  dusky  aperture  he  had  seen,  which    appeared    to  en 
large  itself  mysteriously  as  he  approached,  like  the  open- 
ing gateway  of  some  magic  cavern. 

Suddenly  a  faint  groan  at  his  feet  startled  him;  and 
looking  down  hastily,  he  perceived  an  unfortunate  man 
lying  half-crushed  under  the  ponderous  fragment  of  a 
split  column,  which  had  fallen  across  his  body  in  such 
manner  that  any  attempt  to  extricate  him  would  have 
been  worse  than  useless.  By  the  bright  light  of  the 
leaping  flames,  Theos  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing 
the  pallid  countenance  of  his  late  acquaintance,  the 
learned  professor  of  positivism,  Mira-Khabur,  who  was 
evidently  very  near  his  woeful  and  most  positive  end! 
Struck  by  an  impulse  of  compassion,  he  paused;  yet 
what  could  he  say?  In  such  a  case,  where  rescue  was 
impossible,  all  comfort  seemed  mockery;  and  while  he 
stood  silent  and  irresolute,  he  fancied  the  professor 
smiled!  It  was  a  very  ghastly  smile;  nevertheless,  it 
had  in  it  a  curious  touch  of  bland  a.id  scrupulous  in- 
quiry. 

"Is  not  this — a  very — remarkable  occurrence?"  asked 
a  voice  so  feeble  and  far-away  that  it  was  difficult  to 
believe  it  came  from  the  lips  of  the  suffering  sage.  "Of 
course — it  arises  from — a  volcanic  eruption,  and  the — 
mystery  of  the  red  river — is — solved!"  Here  an  irre- 
pressible moan  of  anguish  broke  through  his  heroic 
effort  at  equanimity.  It  is  not  a  phenomenon — "  and  a 
gleam  of  obstinate  self-assertion  lit  up  his  poor  glazing 
eyes.  "Nothing  is  phenomenal;  only  I  am  not  able — to 
explain — I  have  no  time — to  analyze — my  very — singular 
— sensations!" 


THE  CUP  OF  WRATH  AND  TREMBLING  397 

A  rush  of  blood  choked  his    utterance,  his    throat  rat- 
tled, he  was  dead;  and  the  dreary,  speculative  smile  froze 
on  his  mouth  in  the  likeness  of  a  solemn  sneer.      At  that 
moment  a  terrific  swirling,  surging  noise,  like  the  furious 
boiling  of  an    underground    whirlpool,     rumbled    heavily 
through  the  air,  and  lo!  with  a  sudden,  swift  shock  that 
sent  Theos  reeling  forward  and  almost  falling  under  the 
burdensome  weight  he  carried,  the  earth  opened,  disclos- 
ing a  hue  pit  of  black  nothingness,   an  enormous    chaim, 
into  which,  with    an    appalling    clamor  as    of  a  hundred 
incessant  peals  of    thunder,  the    whole  main    area  of  the 
temple,  together  with  its  mass  of  dead  and  dyir.g  human 
beings,  sank  in  less  than  five   seconds,   the    ground  clos- 
ing instantaneously  over  its  prey  with    a   sullen  rear,   as 
though  it  were  some  gigantic   beast    devouring    fcod  toe 
long  denied.      And  instead  of  the    vanished  fane  arose  a 
mighty  pillar  of  fire— a  vast,  increasing  volume  of  scarlet 
and  gold  flame  that  spread  outward  and  upward,  higher 
and  higher  in    tapering    lines   and    dome-like    curves    of 
living  light,  while  Theos,  being   hurled    along  restlessly 
by  the  force  of  the  convulsion,   had  reached,  though    he 
knew  not  how,  the  dark  and  quiet  cell-like    portal    with 
its  outleading  steps,  the  only  visible  last  hope  and  chance 
of  safety;  and  he    now    leaned    against    its    cold    stone 
arch,  trembling    in  every    limb,   clasping  the   dead    Sah- 
luma  close,  and  looking  back  in     affrighted    awe    at  the 
tossing  vortex  of  fury  from  which    he  had    miraculously 
escaped.     And,  as   he    looked,  a    host  of    spectral    faces 
seemed  to  rise  whitely  out  of  the    flames  and   wonder  at 
him—faces  that  were  solemn,    wistful,  warning,  and    be- 
seeching by    turns;   they    drifted    through    the    fire    and 
smiled,  and  wept,  and  vanished,   to   reappear    again  and 
yet  again;  and  as  with  painfully  beating  heart  he  strove 
to  combat  the    terror    that    seized    him  at    this    strange 
spectacular  delusion,  all  suddenly  the   heavy   wreaths  of 
smoke,  that  had  till  now  hung  over  the    inner   shrine  of 
Na^aya,  parted  like  drapery  drawn  aside  from  a  picture, 
and  for  a  brief  breathing  space  of    direst    agony    he  saw 
Lysia  once  more— Lysia  in  a  torture  as    horrible    as  any 
ever  depicted    in    a    bigot's    idea  of    his    enemy's   hell 
Round  and  round  her  writhing  form  the    sacred    serpent 
was  twined  in  all  his  many  coils ;  with  both    hands   she 
had  grasped  the  creature's  throat  in  her  frenzy,  striving 


398  "ARDATH* 

to  thrust  back  its  quivering  fangs  from  her  breast,  where« 
on  the  evil  "Eye  of  Raphon"  still  gleamed  distinctly  with 
its  adamantine,  chilly  stare;  at  her  feet  lay  the  body  of 
the  king,  her  lover,  dead  and  wrapped  in  a  ring  of  flames! 
Alone,  all,  all  alone,  she  confronted  death  in  its  most 
appalling  shape;  her  countenance  was  distorted,  yet 
beautiful  still  with  the  beauty  of  a  maddened  Medusa; 
white  and  glittering  as  a  fair  ghost  invoked  from  some 
deadly  gulf  of  pain,  she  stood,  a  phantom  figure  of  min- 
gled loveliness  and  horror,  circled  on  ever)7  side  by  fire! 

With  wild,  straining  eyes,  Theos  gazed  upon  her  thus 
for  the  last  time.  For  with  a  crash  that  seemed  to  rend 
the  very  heavens  the  great  bronze  columns  surrounding 
her,  which  had,  up  to  the  present,  resisted  the  repeated 
onslaughts  of  the  flames,  bent  together  all  at  once  and 
fell  in  a  melting  ruin,  and  the  victorious  fire  roared  loudly 
above  them,  enveloping  the  whole  shrine  anew  in  dense 
clouds  of  smoke  and  jets  of  flame;  Lysia  had  perished! 
All  that  proud  loveliness,  that  dazzling  supremacy,  that 
superb  voluptuousness,that  triumphant  dominion,  swept 
away  into  a  heap  of  undiscoverable  ashes!  And  Zeph- 
oranim's  haughty  spirit,  too,  had  fled — fled,  stained  with 
guilt  and  most  unroyal  dishonor,  all  for  the  sake  of  one 
woman's  fairness — the  fairness  of  body  only,  the  brilliant 
mask  of  flesh  that  too  often  hides  the  hideousness  of  a 
devil's  nature! 

For  one  moment  Theos  remained  stupefied  by  the  sheer 
horror  of  the  catastrophe;  then,  recalling  his  bewildered 
wits  to  his  aid,  he  peered  anxiously  through  the  arch- 
way where  he  rested;  there  seemed  to  be  a  dim  red  glow 
at  the  end  of  the  downward-leading  steps,  as  well  as  a 
dusky  azure  tint,  like  a  patch  of  midnight  sky.  The 
temple  was  now  nothing  but  a  hissing,  shrieking  pyra- 
mid of  flame;  the  hot  and  blinding  glare  was  almost  too 
intense  for  his  eyes  to  endure,  yet  so  fascinated  was  he 
by  the  sublime  terror  and  grandeur  of  the  spectacle, 
that  he  could  scarcely  make  up  his  mind  to  turn  away 
from  it!  The  thought  of  Sah-luma,  however,  gave  the 
needful  spur  to  his  flagging  energies,  and,  without  paus- 
ing to  consider  where  he  might  be  going,  he  slowly  and 
hesitatingly  descended  the  steps  before  him,  and  pres- 
ently reached  a  sort  of  small,  open  court  paved  with 
black  marble.  Here  he  tenderly  laid  his  burden  down-— 


THE  CUP  OF  WRATH   AND  TKFMfiLING  399 

a  burden  grown  weightier  with  each  moment  of  its 
bearing— and  letting  his  aching  arms  drop  listlessly  at 
his  sides,  he  looked  up  dreamily,  not  all  at  once  com- 
prehending the  cause  of  the  vast  lurid  light  that  crim- 
soned the  air  like  a  wide  aurora  borealis  everywhere  about 
him;  then,  as  the  truth  suddenly  flashed  on  his  mind, 
he  uttered  a  loud,  irrepressible  cry  of  amazement  and 

awe ! 

Far  as  his  gaze  could  see,  east,  west,  north,  soi  Hi, 
the  whole  city  of  Al-Kyris  was  in  flames,  and  the  binn- 
ing temple  of  Nagaya  was  but  a  mere  spark  in  the  enor- 
mous breadth  of  the  general  conflagration!  Palaces, 
domes,  towers,  and  spires  were  tottering  to  red  destruc- 
tion ;  fire,  fire  everywhere;  nothing  but  fire,  save  when 
a  furious  gust  of  scorching  wind  blew  aside  the  masses 
of  cindery  smoke,  and  showed  glimpses  of  sky  and  the 
changeless  shining  of  a  few  cold,  quiet  stars.  He  cast 
one  desperate  glance  frcm  earth  to  heaven;  how  was  it 
possible  to  escape  from  this  kindling  furnace  of  utter 
annihilation?  Where  all  were  manifestly  doomed,  how 
could  he  expect  to  be  saved?  And  moreover,  if  Sah- 
luma  was  indeed  dead,  what  remained  for  him  but  to  die 

also? 

*  *  *  * 


Calming  the  frenzy  of  his  thoughts  by  a  strong  effort, 
he  began  to  vaguely  wonder    why  and  how    it  happened 
that  the  place  where  he  now  was— this  small  and    insig- 
nificant court— had  so  far  escaped    the  fire,    and    was    as 
cool  and  somber  as  a    sacred    tomb    set    apart  for    some 
hero  or  poet.      Poet!   the  word  acted    as  a    stimulant    to 
his  tired,   struggling  brain,   and  he    all  at    once    remem- 
bered what  Sah-lnma  had  said  to  him  at  their  first  meet 
ing:    "There  is  but  one  poet  in   Al-Kyris,  and  I  am  he!" 
Oh,  true,  true!  Only  one  poet!     Only  one  glory  of  the 
great  city,   that  now  served  him    as  funeral    pyre!     Only 
one  name  worth  remembering  in  all  its  perishing  history - 
the    name    of    SAH-LUMA  !     Sah-luma,  the    beautiful,  the 
gifted,  the    famous,  the    beloved— he    was    dead! 
thought,  in  its  absorbing  painfulness,  straightway  drove 
out  aU  others,  and  Theos,  who  had  carried  nis  comrade's 


400  "ARDATH" 

i 

corpse  bravely  and  unshrinkingly  through  a  fiery  vortex 
of  imminent  peril,  now  sank  on  his  knees  all  desolate 
and  unnerved,  his  hot  tears  dropping  fast  on  that  lair, 
still,  white  face  that  he  knew  would  never  iiush  to  the 
warmth  of  life  again! 

"Sah-luma!  Sah-luma!"  he  whispered.  "My  friend, 
my  more  than  brother!  Would  I  could  have  died  for 
thee!  Would  thou  couldst  have  lived  to  fulfill  the  noble 
promise  of  thy  genius!  Better  far  thou  hadst  been 
spared  to  the  world  than  I,  for  I  am  nothing,  but  thou 
wert  everything!" 

And  taking  the  clay-cold  hands  in  his  own,  he  kissed 
them  reverently,  and,  with  an  unconscious  memory  not 
born  of  his  recent  adventures,  folded  them  on  the  dead 
laureate's  breast  in  the  fasnion  of  a  cross. 

As  he  did  this,  an  icy  spasm  seemed  to  contract  his 
heart;  seized  by  a  sudden  insufferable  anxiety,  he  stared 
like  one  spellbound  into  Sah-luma' s  wide-open,  fixed, 
and  glassy  eyes.  Dsad  eyes,  yet  how  full  of  mysterious 
significance!  What  —what  was  their  weird  secret,  their 
imminent  meaning?  Why  did  their  dark  and  frozen 
depths  appear  to  retain  a  strange,  living  under-gleam  of 
melting,  sorrowful,  beseeching  sweetness,  like  the  eyes 
of  one  who  prays  to  be  remembered, though  changed, after 
long  absence?  What  hot  and  terrible  delirium  was  this 
that  snatched  at  his  whirling  brain  as  he  bent  closer  and 
closer  over  the  marble  quiet  countenance  and  studied 
with  a  sort  of  fierce  intentness  every  line  of  those  deli- 
cate, classic  features,  on  which  high  thought  had  left  so 
marked  an  impress  of  dignity  and  power!  What  a  mar- 
velous, half-reproachful,  half-appealing  smile  lingered 
on  the  finely  carved,  set  lips!  How  wonderful,  how 
beautiful,  how  beloved  beyond  all  words  was  this  fair 
dead  god  of  poesy  on  whom  he  gazed  with  such  a  pas- 
sion of  yearning! 

Stooping  more  and  more,  he  threw  his  arms  round  the 
senseless  form,  and,  partly  lifting  it  from  the  ground, 
brought  the  wax-pallid  face  nearer  to  his  own,  so  near 
that  the  cold  mouth  almost  touched  his ;  then  filled 
with  an  awful,  unnamable  misgiving,  he  scanned  his 
murdered  comrade's  perished  beauty  in  puzzled,  vague 
bewilderment,  much  as  an  ignorant  dullard  might  per- 
plex-^dly  scan  the  incomprehensible  characters  of  some 


THE   CUP  OF   WRATH   AND  TREMBLING  4-OI 

hieroglyphic  scroll.  And  as  he  looked,  a  sharp  pang 
shot  through  him  like  a  whizzing  ball  of  fire,  a  convul- 
sion of  mental  agony  shook  his  limbs;  he  could  have 
shrieked  aloud  in  the  extremity  of  his  torture,  but  the 
struggling  cry  died  gasping  in  his  throat.  Still  as  stone, 
he  kept  his  strained,  steadfast  gaze  fixed  on  Sah  luma's 
corpse,  slowly  absorbing  the  full  horror  of  a  tremendous 
suggestion,  that,  like  a  scorching  lava  flood,  swept  into 
ever}'  subtle  channel  of  his  brain!  For  the  dead  Sah- 
luma's  eyes  grew  into  the  semblance  of  his  own  eyes! 
The  dead  Sah- luma's  face  smiled  spectrally  back  at  him 
in  the  image  of  his  own  face!  It  was  as  though  he  be- 
held the  picture  of  himself,  slain  and  reflected  in  a  ma- 
gician's mirror!  Round  him  the  very  heavens  seemed 
given  up  to  fire,  but  he  heeded  it  not;  the  world  might 
be  at  an  end  and  the  day  of  Judgment  proclaimed;  noth- 
ing would  have  stirred  him  from  where  he  knelt  in  that 
dreadful  stillness  of  mystic  martyrdom,  drinking  in  the 
gradual,  glimmering  consciousness  of  a  terrific  truth;  the 
amazing,  yet  scarcely  graspable  solution  of  a  supernat- 
ural enigma — an  enigma  through  which,  like  a  man  lost 
in  the  depths  of  a  dark  forest,  he  had  wandered  up  and 
down,  seeking  light,  yet  finding  none! 

"O  God!"  he  humbly  prayed,  "thou,  with  whom  all 
things  are  possible,  give  eyes  to  this  blind  trouble  of 
my  heart!  I  am  but  as  a  grain  of  dust  before  thee,  a 
poor  perishable  atom,  devoid  of  simplest  comprehension. 
Do  thou  of  thy  supernal  pity  teach  me  what  I  must 
know ! " 

As  he  thought  out  this  unuttered  petition,  a  tense 
cord  seemed  to  snap  suddenly  in  his  brain,  a  rush  of 
tears  came  to  his  relief,  and  through  their  salt  and  bit- 
ter haze  the  face  of  Sah-luma  appeared  to  melt  into  a 
thin  and  spiritual  brightness,  a  mere  aerial  outline  of 
what  it  had  once  been;  the  glazed  dark  eyes  seemed  to 
flash  living  lightning  into  his;  the  whole  lost  personal- 
ity of  the  dead  poet  seemed  to  environ  him  with  a  mys- 
terious, potent,  incorporeal  influence— an  influence  that 
he  felt  he  must  now  or  never  repel,  reject,  and  utterly 
resist!  With  a  shuddering  cry,  he  tore  his  reluctant 
arms  away  from  the  beloved  corpse;  with  trembling, 
tender  fingers  he  closed  and  pressed  do\\n  the  white 
eyelids  of  those  love-expressing  eyes,  and  kissed  the 
,  poetic  brow ! 


402  "ARDATH" 

"Whatever  thou  wert  or  art  to  me,  Sah-luma, "  he 
murmured  in  sobbing  haste,  "thou  knowest  that  I  loved 
thee,  though  now  I  leave  thee!  Farewell!"  and  his  voice 
broke  in  its  strong  agony.  "Oh,  how  much  easier  to 
divide  body  from  soul  than  part  myself  from  thee,  Sah- 
luma,  beloved  Sah-luma!  God  give  thee  good  rest!  God 
pardon  thy  sins,  and  mine!" 

And  he  pressed  his  lips  once  more  on  the  folded  rigid 
hands;  as  he  did  so,  he  inadvertently  touched  the  writ- 
ing tablet  that  hung  from  the  dead  laureate's  girdle. 
The  red  glow  of  the  fire  around  him  enabled  him  to  see 
distinctly  what  was  written  on  it;  there  were  about  twenty 
lins  of  verse  in  exquisitely  clear  and  fine  caligraphy; 
and  as  he  read,  he  knew  them  well ;  they  were  the  last 
lines  of  the  poem  "Nourhalma!" 

He  dared  trust  his  own  strength  no  longer;  one  wild, 
adoring,  lingering,  parting  look  at  his  dead  rival  in  song, 
whom  he  had  loved  better  than  himself,  and  then,  full 
of  a  nameless  fear,  he  fled;  fled  recklessly  and  with 
swift,  mad  fury,  as  though  demons  followed  in  pursuit; 
fled  through  the  burning  city  as  a  lost  and  frenzied  spirit 
might  speed  through  the  deserts  of  hell!  Everywhere 
about  him  resounded  the  crackling  of  flames,  and  the 
crash  of  falling  buildings;  mighty  pinnacles  and  lofty 
domes  melted  and  vanished  before  his  eyes  in  a  blaze  of 
brilliant  destruction!  On,  on  he  went,  meeting  confused, 
scattered  crowds  of  people,  whose  rushing  white-gar- 
mented figures  looked  like  flying  ghosts  befors  a  storm; 
the  cries  and  shrieks  of  women  and  children,  and  the 
groans  of  men  were  mingled  with  the  restless  roaring  of 
lions  and  other  wild  beasts  burned  out  of  their  dens  in 
the  Royal  Arena,  the  distant  circle  of  which  could  be 
dimly  seen,  surrounded  by  fountain-like  jets  of  fire.  Some 
of  the  maddened  animals  ran  against  him  as  he  sped 
along  the  blazing  thoroughfares,  but  he  made  no  attempt 
to  avoid  them,  nor  was  he  sensible  of  any  other  terror 
than  that  which  was  within  himself  and  was  purely  men- 
tal. On,  on,  still  on  he  went,  a  desperate,  lonely  man, 
lost  in  a  hideous  nightmare  of  flame  and  fury,  seeing 
nothing  but  one  vast  flying  rout  of  molten  red  and  gold, 
speaking  to  none,  utterly  reckless  as  to  his  own  fate, 
only  impelled  on  and  on,  but  whither  he  knew  not,  nor 
cared  to  know! 


THE  CUP  OF  WRATH  AND  TREMBLING          403 

All  at  once  his  strength  gave  way,  his  nerves  seemed 
to  break  asunder  like  so  many  over  wound  harp  strings  ; 
a  sudden  silvery  clanging  of  bells  rang  in  his  ears,  and 
with  them  came  a  sound  of  multitudinous  soft,  small 
voices:  "Kyrie  Eleison!  Kyrie  Eleison! 


Hush!  What  was  that?  What  did  it  mean?  Halt- 
ing abruptly,  he  gave  a  wild  glance  round  him,  up  to 
the  sky,  where  the  flaring  flames  spread  in  tangled 
lengths  and  webs  of  light,  then  straight  before  him  to 
the  city  of  Al-Kyris,  now  a  wondrous  vision  of  redly 
luminous  columns  and  cupolas,  with  the  wet  gleam  of 
the  river  enfolding  its  blazing  streets  and  towers  ;  and 
while  he  yet  beheld  it,  lo!  //  receded  from  his  view! 
Further,  further,  further  away,  till  it  seemed  nothing 
but  the  toppling  and  smouldering  of  heavy  clouds  after 
the  conflagration  of  the  sunset! 

Hark!    hark  again!     "Kyrie    Eleison!    Kyrie    Eleison! 
With  a  sense  of  reeling  rapture  and  awe  he  listened— he 
understood  ;  he    found  the  NAME  he  had  so  long  forgot- 
ten ! 

"CHRIST,  have  mercy  upon  me!"  he  cried;  and  in  that 
one  urgent  supplication  he  uttered  all  the  pent-up  an- 
guish of  his  soul.  Blind  and  dizzy  with  the  fevered 
whirl  of  his  own  emotions,he  stumbled  forward  and  fell- 
fell  heavily  over  a  block  of  stone;  stunned  by  the 
shock,  he  lost  consciousness,  but  only  for  a  moment;  a 
dull  aching  in  his  temples  roused  him,  and  making  a 
faint  effort  to  rise,  he  turned  slowly  and  languidly  on 
his  arm,  and  with  a  long,deep,  shuddering  sigh,  AWOKE! 


He  was  on  the  "Field  of  Ardath."  Dawn  had  just 
broken.  The  east  was  one  wide,  shimmering  stretch  of 
warm  gold,  and  over  it  lay  strips  of  blue  and  gray,  like 
fragments  of  torn  battle-banners.  Above  him  sparkled 
the  morning  star,  white  and  glittering  as  a  silver  lamp, 


404  "ARDATH" 

among  the  delicate  spreading  tints  of  saffron  and  green, 
and  beside  him,  her  clear,  pure  features  flushed  by  the 
roseate  splendor  of  the  sky,  her  hands  clasped  ou  her 
breast,  and  her  sweet  eyes  full  of  an  iniinite  tenderness 
and  yearning,  knelt  EDRIS  —  Edris,  his  flower-crowned 
angel,  whom  last  he  had  seen  drifting  upward  and  away 
like  a  dove  through  the  glory  of  the  cross  in  heaven! 


CHAPTER  XX. 

SUNRISE. 

ENTRANCED  in  amazed  ecstasy  he  lay  quite  quiet,  afraid 
to  speak  or  stir!  This  gentle  presence,  this  fair  beseech- 
ing face  might  vanish  if  he  moved !  So  he  dimly  fancied, 
as  he  gazed  up  at  her  in  mute  wonder  and  worship,  his 
devout  eyes  drinking  in  her  saintly  loveliness,  from  the 
deep  burnished  gold  of  her  hair  to  the  soft  white  slim- 
ness  of  her  prayerfully  fiblded  hands.  And  while  he 
looked,  old  thoughts  like  home-returning  birds  began  to 
hover  round  his  soul ;  sweet  and  dear  remembrances, 
like  the  sunset  lighting  up  the  windows  of  an  empty 
house,  began  to  shine  on  the  before  semi-darkened  nooks 
and  crannies  of  his  brain.  Clearer  and  clearer  grew  the 
reflecting  mirror  of  his  consciousness;  trouble  and  per- 
plexity seemed  passing  away  forever  from  his  mind;  a 
great  and  solemn  peace  environed  him,  and  he  began  to 
believe  he  had  crossed  the  boundary  of  death  and  had 
entered  at  last  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven!  Oh,  let  him 
not  break  this  holy  silence!  Let  him  rest  so,  with  all 
the  glory  of  that  angel-visage  shed  like  summer  sun- 
beams over  him !  Let  him  absorb  into  his  innermost  being 
the  exquisite  tenderness  of  those  innocent, hopeful, watch- 
ful, starry  eyes  whose  radiance  seemed  to  steal  into  the 
golden  morning  and  give  it  a  sacred  poetry  and  infinite 
marvel  of  meaning!  So  he  mused,  gravely  contented, 
while  all  through  the  brightening  skies  overhead,  came 
the  pale  pink  flushing  of  the  dawn  like  a  far  fluttering 
and  scattering  of  rose  leaves.  Everything  was  so  still 
that  he  could  hear  his  own  heart  beating  forth  healthful 


SUNRISE  405 

and  regular  pulsations,  but  he  was  scarcely  conscious  of 
his  own  existence;  he  was  only  aware  of  the  vast,  beau- 
tiful, halcyon  calm  that  encircled  him  shelteringly  and 
soothed  all  care  way. 

Gradually,  however,  this  deep  and  delicious  tranquility 
began  to  yield  to  a  sweeping  rush  of  memory  and  com- 
prehension; he  knew  who  he  was  and  where  he  was, 
though  he  did  not  as  yet  feel  absolutely  certain  of  life 
and  life's  so-called  realities.  For  if  the  city  of  Al-Kyris 
with  all  its  vivid  wonders,  Us  distinct  experiences,  its 
brilliant  pageantry,  had  been  indeed  a  DREAM,  then  surely 
it  was  possible  he  might  be  dreaming  still;  neverthe- 
less, he  was  able  to  gather  up  the  fragments  of  lost  rec- 
ollection consecutively  enough  to  realize,  by  gentle  de- 
grees, his  actual  identit)'  and  position  in  the  world;  he 
was  Theos  Alzvyn,  a  man  of  the  nineteenth  century  after 
Christ.  Ah!  thank  God  for  that!  After  Christ!  no't  one 
who  had  lived  five  thousand  years  before  Christ's  birth! 
And  this  quiet,  patient  maiden  at  his  side — who  was 
she?  A  vision  or  an  actually  existent  being?  Unable 
to  resist  the  craving  desire  of  his  heart,  he  spoke  her 
name  as  he  now  remembered  it — spoke  it  in  a  faint, 
awed  whisper. 

"Edris!" 

"Theos,  my  beloved!" 

O  sweet  and  thrilling  voice,  more  musical  than  the 
singing  of  birds  in  a  sun-filled  spring! 

He  raised  himself  a  little,  and  looked  at  her  more  in- 
tently; she  smiled,  and  that  smile,  so  marvelous  in  its 
pensive  peace  and  lofty  devotion,  was  as  though  all  the 
light  of  an  unguessed  paradise  had  suddenly  flashed  upon 
his  soul. 

"Edris!"  he  said  again,  trembling  in  the  excess  cf 
mingled  hope  and  fear.  "Hast  thou  then  returned  again 
from  heaven  to  lift  me  out  of  darkness?  Tell  me,  fair 
angel,  do  I  wake  or  sleep?  Are  my  senses  deceived? 
Is  this  land  a  dream?  Am  I  myself  a  dream,  and  thou 
the  only  manifest  sweet  truth  in  a  world  of  drifting  shad- 
ows? Speak  to  me,  gentle  saint!  In  what  vast  mystery 
have  I  been  engulfed,  in  what  timeless  trance  of  soul- 
bewilderment,  in  what  blind  uncertainty  and  pain?  O 
Sweet!  resolve  my  worldless  wonder!  Where  have  I 
strayed?  What  have  I  seen?  Ah,  let  not  my  rough 


406  "ARDATH" 

speech  fright  thee  back  to  Paradise !  Stay  with  me, 
comfort  me!  I  have  lost  thee  so  long,  let  me  not  lose 
thee  now!" 

Smiling  still,  she  bent  over  him  and  pressed  her  warm, 
delicate  fingers  lightly  on  his  brow  and  lips.  Then 
softly  she  arose  and  stood  erect, 

"Fear  nothing,  my  beloved  !"  she  answered,  her  silvery 
accents  sending  a  throb  of  holy  triumph  through  the  air. 
"Let  no  trouble  disquiet  thee,  and  no  shadow  of  mis- 
giving dim  the  brightness  of  thy  waking  moments!  Thou 
hast  slept  one  night  on  the  'Field  of  Ardath'  in  the 
Valley  of  Vision;  but  lo!  the  night  is  past! — "and  she 
pointed  toward  the  eastern  horizon  now  breaking  into 
waves  of  rosy  gold.  "Rise !  and  behold  the  dawning  of 
thy  new  day! 

Roused  by  her  touch,  and  fired  by  her  tone,  and  the 
grand,  unworldly  dignity  of  her  look  and  bearing,  he 
sprang  up ;  but  as  he  met  the  full,  pure  splendor  of  her 
divine  eyes,  and  saw,  wavering  round  her,  a  shining 
aureole  of  amber  radiance  like  a  wreath  of  woven  sun- 
beams, his  spirit  quailed  within  him—he  remembered 
all  his  doubts  of  her,  his  disbelief — and,  falling  at  her 
feet,  he  hid  his  face  in  a  shame  that  was  better  than 
all  glory,  and  humiliation  that  was  sweeter  than  all 
pride. 

"Edris !  Immortal  Edris!"  he  passionately  prayed. 
"As  thou  art  a  crowned  saint  in  heaven,  shed  light  on 
the  chaos  of  my  soul!  From  the  depths  of  a  penitence 
past  thought  and  speech  I  plead  with  thee!  Hear  me, 
my  Edris;  thou  who  art  so  maiden-meek,  so  tender-pa- 
tient! hear  me,  help  me,  guide  me;  I  am  all  thine!  Say, 
didst  thou  not  summon  me  to  meet  thee  here  upon  this 
wondrous  'Field  of  Ardath?'  Did  I  not  come  hither 
according  to  thy  words?  and  have  I  not  seen  things  that 
I  am  not  able  to  express  or  understand?  Teach  me,  wise 
and  beloved  one!  I  doubt  no  more!  I  know  myself  and 
thee:  thou  art  an  angel,  but  I,  alas!  what  am  I?  A  grain 
of  sand  in  thy  sight  and  in  God's,  a  mere  nothing,  com- 
prehending nothing,  unable  even  to  realize  the  extent  of 
my  own  nothingness!  Edris,  O  Edris!  thou  canst  not 
love  me!  thou  mayest  pity  me  perchance,  and  pardon, 
and  bless  me  gently  in  Christ's  dear  name!  but  love!— 
thy  love!  Oh,  let  rne  not  aspire  to  such  heights  of  joy, 
where  I  have  no  right,  no  worthiness!" 


SUNRISE  407 

"No  worthiness!"  echoed  Edris.  What  a  rapture 
trembled  through  her  sweet, caressing  voice!  "My  Theos, 
who  is  so  worthy  to  win  back  what  is  thine  own  as  thou? 
All  heaven  has  wondered  at  thy  voluntary  exile;  thy 
place  in  God's  supernal  sphere  has  long  been  vacant; 
thy  right  to  dwell  there  none  have  questioned;  thy  throne 
is  empty— thy  crown  unclaimed!  Thou  art  an  angel 
even  as  I;  but  thou  art  in  bonds  while  I  am  free!  Ah, 
how  sad  and  strange  it  is  to  me  to  see  thee  here  thus 
fettered  to  the  sorrowful  star,  when  countless  aeons  since 
thou  mightest  have  enjoyed  full  liberty  in  the  eternal  light 
of  the  everlasting  Paradise!" 

He  listened;  a  strong,  sweet  hope  began  to  kindle  in 
him  like  flame,  but  he  made  no  answer.  Only  he  caught 
and  kissed  the  edge  of  her  garment;  its  soft,  gray, 
cloudy  texture  brushed  his  lips  with  the  odorous  cool- 
ness of  a  furled  rose-leaf.  She  seemed  to  tremble  at  his 
action,  but  he  dared  not  look  up.  Presently  he  felt  the 
pulsing  pressure  of  her  hands  upon  his  head,  and  a  rush 
of  strange,  warm  vigor  thrilled  through  his  veins  like  an 
electric  flash  of  new  and  never-ending  life. 

"Thou  wouldst  seek  after  and  know  the  truth!"  she 
said — "truth  celestial,  truth  unchangeable,  truth  that 
permeates  and  underlies  all  the  mystic  inward  workings 
of  the  universe,  workings  and  secret  laws  unguessed  by 
man!  Vast  as  eternity  is  this  truth,  ungraspable  in  all 
its  manifestations  by  the  merely  mortal  intelligence; 
nevertheless,  thy  spirit,  being  chastened  to  noble  humil- 
ity and  repentance,  hath  risen  to  new  heights  of  com- 
prehension, whence  thou  canst  partly  penetrate  into  the 
wonders  of  worlds  unseen.  Did  I  not  tell  thee  to  'learn 
from  the  perils  of  the  past  the  perils  of  'the  future?  and 
understandest  ;hou  not  the  lesson  of  the  vision  of  Al- 
Kyris?  Thou  hast  seen  the  dream  reflection  of  thy  former 
poet  fame  and  glory  in  old  time.  Thou  wcrt  Sah-luma!" 

An  agony  of  shame  possessed  him  as  he  heard.  His 
soul  at  once  seized  the  solution  of  the  mystery;  his 
quickened  thought  plunged  plummet-like  straight  through 
the  depths  of  the  bewildering  phantasmagoria,  in  which 
mere  reason  had  been  of  no  practical  avail,  and  straight- 
way sounded  its  whole  seemingly  complex,  but  actually 
Dimple  meaning.  He  was  Sah-luma  or,  rather,  he  had 
Sah-luma  in  some  far  stretch  of  long-receded  time, 


408  "ARDATH" 

and  in  his  dream  of  a  single  night  he  had  loved  the  bril 
liant  phantom  of  his  former  self  more  than  his  own  present 
identity.  Not  less  remarkable  was  the  fact  that  in  this 
strange  sleep-mirage  he  had  imagined  himself  to  be  per- 
fectly unselfish,  whereas  all  the  while  he  had  honored, flat- 
tered, and  admired  the  mere  appearance  of  himself  more 
than  anything  or  everything  in  the  world.  Ay!  even 
his  occasional  reluctant  reproaches  to  himself  in  the 
ghostly  impersonation  of  Sah-luma  had  been  far  more 
tender  than  severe. 

O  deep  and  bitter  ingloriousness!  O  speechless  deg- 
radation of  all  the  higher  capabilities  of  man!  To  love 
one's  own  ephemeral  shadow-existence  so  utterly  as  to 
exclude  from  thought  and  sympathy  all  other  things, 
whether  human  or  divine!  And  was  it  not  possible  that 
this  specter  of  self  might  still  be  clinging  to  him?  Was 
it  dead  with  the  dream  of  Sah-luma?  or  had  Sah-luma 
never  truly  died  at  all!  And  was  the  fine  fire-spun  es- 
sence that  had  formed  the  spirit  of  the  laureate  of  Al- 
Kyris  yet  part  of  the  living  substance  of  his  present 
nature — he,  a  world-unrecognized  English  poet  of  the 
nineteenth  century?  Did  all  Sah-luma' s  light  follies, 
idle  passions,  and  careless  cruelties  remain  inherent  in 
him?  Had  he  the  same  pride  of  intellect,  the  same  vain- 
glory, the  same  indifference  to  God  and  man?  Oh  no, 
no!  he  shuddered  at  the  thought;  and  his  head  sank 
lower  and  lower  beneath  the  benediction-touch  of  her 
whose  tenderness  revived  his  noblest  energies,  and  lit 
anew  in  his  heart  the  pure,  bright  fire  of  heaven-encom- 
passing aspiration. 

"Thou  wert  Sah-lumaT  went  on  the  mildly  earnest 
voice;  "and  all  the  wide,  ungrudging  fame  given  to 
earth's  great  poets  in  ancient  days  was  thine!  Thy  name 
was  on  all  men's  mouths;  thou  wert  honored  by  kings; 
thou  wert  the  chief  glory  of  a  great  people,  great  though 
misled  by  their  own  false  opinions,  and  the  city  of  Al- 
Kyris,  of  which  thou  wert  the  enshrined  jewel,  was 
mightier  far  than  any  now  built  upon  the  earth.  Christ 
had  not  come  to  thee,  save  by  dim  types  and  vague 
prefigurements  which  only  praying  prophets  could  dis- 
cern; but  God  had  spoken  to  thy  soul  in  quiet  moments, 
and  thou  wouldst  neither  hear  him  nor  believe  in  him. 
I  had  called  thee,  but  thou  wouldst  not  listen;  thou 


SUNRISE  409 

didst  foolishly  prefer  to  hearken  to  the  clamorous'  tempt- 
ing of  thine  own  beguiling  human  passions,  and  \vert 
altogether  deaf  to  an  angel's  whisper.  Things  of  the 
earth,  earthy,  gained  dominion  over  thee;  by  them  thou 
wert  led  astray,  deceived,  and  at  last  forsaken;  the 
genius  God  gave  thee  thou  didst  misuse  and  indolently 
waste;  thy  brief  life  came,  as  thou  hast  seen,  to  sudden, 
piteous  end,  and  the  proud  city  of  thy  dwelling  was  de 
stroyed  by  fire!  Not  a  trace  of  it  was  left  to  mark  the 
spot  where  once  it  stood:  the  foundations  of  Babylon 
were  laid  upon  it,  and  no  man  guessed  that  it  had  ever 
been.  And  thy  poems,  the  fruit  of  thy  heaven-sent  but 
carelessly  accepted  inspiration;  who  is  there  that  remem- 
bers them?  No  one!  save  THOU!  Thou  hast  recovered 
them  like  sunken  pearls  from  the  profound  ocean  of  lim- 
itless memory,  and  to  the  world  of  to-day  thou  dost  re- 
peat the  self-same  music  to  which  Al-K\ris  listened  en- 
tranced so  many  thousands  of  generations  ago!" 

A  deep  sigh  that  was  half  a  groan  broke  from  his  lips; 
he  could  not  take  the  measurement  of  his  own  utter 
littleness  and  incompetency !  He  could  create  nothing 
new!  Everything  he  had  written,  as  he  fancied  only  just 
lately,  had  been  written  by  himself  before.  The  prob- 
lem of  the  poem  "Nourhalma,"  was  explained;  he  had 
designed  it  when  he  had  played  his  part  on  the  stage  of 
life  as  Sah-luma,  and  perhaps  not  even  then  for  the  first 
time.  In  this  pride-crushing  knowledge  there  was  only 
one  consolation — namely,  that  if  his  dream  were  a  true 
reflection  of  his  past,  and  exact  in  details  as  he  felt  it 
must  be,  then  "Nourhalma"  had  not  been  given  to  Al- 
Kyris ;  it  had  been  composed,  but  not  made  public. 
Hence,  so  far,  Lt  was  new  to  the  world,  though  not  new 
to  himself. 

Yet  he  had  considered  it  wondrously  new;  a  "perfectly 
original"  idea!  Ah!  who  dares  to  boast  of  any  idea  as 
humanly  "original,"  seeing  that  all  ideas  whatsoever 
must  be  referred  back  to  God  and  admitted  as  his,  and 
his  only?  What  is  the  wisest  man  that  ever  lived,  but 
a  small,  pale,  ill-reflecting  mirror  of  the  eternal  thought 
that  controls  and  dominates  all  things?  He  remembered 
with  conscience-stricken  confusion  what  pleasure  he  had 
felt,  what  placid  satisfaction,  what  unqualified  admira- 
tion, when  listening:  to  his  own  works  recited  by  the 


4^O  "ARDATH" 

ghost-presentment  of  his  former  self — pleasure  that  had 
certainly  exceeded  whatever  pain  he  had  suffered  by  the 
then  enigmatical  and  perplexing  nature  of  the  incident. 
Oh,  what  a  foolish  atom  he  now  seemed,  viewed  by  the 
standard  of  his  newly  aroused  higher  consciousness; 
how  poor  and  passive  a  slave  to  the  glittering,  beck- 
oning phantasm  of  his  own  perishable  fame! 

Thus  on  the  "Field  of  Ardath"  he  drained  the  cup  of 
humiliation  to  the  dregs;  the  cup  which,  like  that  offered 
to  the  prophet  of  Holy  Writ,  was  "full  as  it  were  with 
water,  but  the  color  of  it  was  like  fire; "  the  water  of 
tears,  the  fire  of  faith;  and  with  that  prophet  he  might 
have  said,  "When  I  had  drunk  of  it  my  heart  uttered 
understanding,  knd  wisdom  grew  in  my  breast,  for  my 
spirit  strengthened  my  memory." 

Meanwhile  Edris,  still  keeping  her  gentle  hands  on  his 
bent  head,  went  on: 

"In  such  wise  didst  thou,  my  beloved,  as  the  famous 
Sah-luma,  mournfully  perish,  and  the  nations  remem- 
bered thee  no  more!  But  thy  spiritual,  indestructible 
essence  lived  on,  and  wandered  dismayed  and  forlorn 
through  a  myriad  forms  of  existance  in  the  depths  of  per- 
petual darkness  which  must  be,  even  as  the  everlasting 
light  is.  Thy  immortal  but  perverted  will  bore  thee 
always  further  from  God,  further  from  him,  and  so  far 
from  me,  that  thou  wert  at  times  beyond  even  an  angel's 
ken!  Ages  upon  ages  rolled  away;  the  centuries  be- 
tween earth  and  earth's  purposed  redemption  passed, 
and,  though  in  heaven  these  measured  spaces  of  time 
that  appear  so  great  to  men  are  as  a  mere  world's  month 
of  summer,  still,  to  me,  for  once  God's  golden  days 
seemed  long!  I  had  lost  thee  Thou  wert  my  soul's 
other  soul,  my  king!  my  immortality's  completion!  and 
though  thou  wert,  alas!  a  fallen  brightness,  yet  I  held 
fast  to  my  one  hope,  the  hope  in  thy  diviner  nature, 
which,  though  sorely  overcome,  was  not  and  could  not  be 
wholly  destroyed.  I  knew  the  fate  in  store  for  thee; 
I  knew  that  thou  with  other  erring  spirits  wert  bound 
to  live  again  on  earth  when  Christ  had  built  his  holy 
way  therefrom  to  heaven,  and  never  did  I  cease  for 
thy  dear  sake  to  wait  and  watch  and  pray!  At 
last  I  found  thee;  but  ah!  how  I  trembled  for  thy  des- 
tiny! To  thee  had  been  delivered,  as  to  all  the  children 


SUNRISE  411 

of  men,  the  final  message  of  salvation,  the  message  of 
love  and  pardon  which  made  all  the  angels  wonder;  but 
thou  didst  utterly  reject  it;  and  with  the  same  willful 
arrogance  of  thy  former  self,  Sah-luma,  thou  wert  blindly 
and  desperately  turning  anew  into  darkness!  O  my  be- 
loved, that  darkness  might  have  been  eternal,  and 
crowded  with  memories  dating  from  thy  beginning  of  life! 
Nay,  let  me  not  speak  of  that  supernal  agony,  since 
Christ  hath  died  to  quench  its  terrors!  .  .  .  Enough! 
by  a  happy  chance,  through  my  desire,  thine  own  roused 
better  will,  and  the  strength  of  one  who  hath  many 
friends  in  heaven,  thy  spirit  was  released  to  temporary 
liberty,  and  in  thy  vision  at  Dariel,  which  was  no  vis- 
ion but  a  truth,  I  bade  thee  meet  me  here.  And  why? 
Solely  to  test  thy  power  of  obedience  to  a  divine  im- 
pulse unexplainable  by  human  reason;  and  I  rejoiced  as 
only  angels  can  rejoice,  when  of  thine  own  free  will 
thou  didst  keep  the  tryst  I  made  with  thee!  Yet  thou 
knewest  me  not !  or  rather  thou  ivouldst  not  know  me,  till 
I  left  thee?  'Tis.ever  the  way  of  mortals,  to  doubt  their 
angels  in  disguise!" 

Her  sweet  accents  shook  with  a  liquid  thrill  sugges- 
tive of  tears,  but  he  was  silent.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
he  would  be  well  content  to  hold  his  peace  forever,  if 
forever  he  might  hear  her  thus  melodiously  speak  on! 
Had  she  not  called  him  her  "other  soul,  her  king,  the 
immortality's  completion!"  and  on  those  wondrous  words 
of  hers  his  spirit  hung,  impassioned,  dazzled,  and  en- 
tranced beyond  all  time  and  space  and  nature  and  ex- 
perience! 

After  a  brief  pause,  during  which  his  ravished  mind 
floated  among  the  thousand  images  and  vague  feelings 
of  a  whole  past  and  future  merged  in  one  splendid  and 
celestial  present,  she  resumed,  always  softly  and  with 
the  same  exquisite  tenderness  of  tone: 

"T  l«ft  thee,  dearest,  but  a  moment,  and  in  that  mo- 
ment He  who  hath  himself  shared  in  human  sorrows  and 
sympathies,  he  who  is  the  embodiment  of  the  essence  of 
God's  love,  came  to  my  aid.  Plunging  thy  senses  in 
deep  sleep,  as  hath  been  done  before  to  many  a  saint 
and  prophet  of  old  time  here  on  this  very  field  of  'Ar- 
iath,'  he  summoned  up  before  thee  the  phantoms  of  a 
portion  of  thy  past— phantoms  which,  to  thee.  seemed 


412  "ARDATH" 

far  more  ieal  than  the  living  presence  of  thy  faithful 
Edris!  Alas,  my  beloved!  thou  art  not  the  only  one  on 
the  sorrowful  star  who  accepts  a  dream  tor  reality  and 
rejects  reality  as  a  dream!" 

She  paused  again,  and  again    continued:    "Neverthe- 
less, in  some  degree  thy  vision  of  Al-Kyris  was  true,  in- 
asmuch as  thou  wert  shown  therein,  as  in  a  mirror,  one 
phase,  one  only,  of    thy    former    existence    upon    earth. 
The  final  episode  was  chosen,  as    by  the  end  of  a  man's 
days  alone  shall  he  be  judged!     As  much  as  thy  dream- 
ing sight  was  able  to  see,  as  much  as  thy  brain  was  able 
to  bear,  appeared  before  thee,  but    that    thou,  slumber- 
ing, wert  yet  a   conscious    personality  among  phantoms, 
and  that  these    phantoms  spoke  to    thee,  charmed    thee, 
bewildered  thee,  tempted    thee,  and    swayed    thee,  this 
was  the  Divine  Master's  work  upon  thine  own  retrospec- 
tive thought  and  memory.      He  gave  the  shadows  of  thy 
by-gone  life  seeming  color,   sense,  motion,    and    speech. 
He  blotted  out  from  thy  remembrance  his  own  most  holy 
name,  and,  shutting    up    the    present    from  thy  gaze,  he 
sent  thy  spirit  back  into  the  past.   There,  thou,  perplexed 
and  sorrowful,  didst  painfully  reweave  the  last  fragments 
of  thy  former  history,  and  not  till  thou  hadst  abandoned 
the  shadow  of  thyself  didst     thou    escape    from     the    fear 
of  destruction!     Then,    when    apparently  all    alone,  and 
utterly  forsaken,  a  cloud  of    angels    circled    round  thee. 
Then,  at  thy  first  repentant  cry  for  help,  he  who  has  never 
left  an  earnest  prayer  unanswered  bade  me  descend  hither, 
to  waken  and  comfort  thee!     On,  never  was   his  bidding 
more  joyously  obeyed!     Now  I  have  plainly  shown  thee 
the  interpretation  of  thy  dream;  and  dost  thou  not  com- 
prehend the  intention  of  the  Highest  in    manifesting    ic 
unto  thee?     Remember  the  words    of  God's    Prophet  of 
old:— 

'  'Behold  the  field  thou  thoughtest  barren,  how  great  a  glory  hath  the 
moon  unveiled! 

"  'And  I  beheld  and  was  sore  amazed,  for  I  was  no  longer  myself,  bat 
another. 

"  'And  the  sword  of  death  was  in  that  other's  soul — and  yet  that  other 
was  but  myself  in  pain: 

"  'And  I  knew  not  the  things  which  were  once  familiar,  and  my  he>irt 
failed  within  me  for  very  fear!' " 

She  spoke  the  quaint  and  mystic  lines  with  a  grave,. 
pure,  rhythmic  utterance  that  was  like  ttie  fa* -erf  sing- 


,  SUNRISE  413 

;ng  of  sweet  psalmody;  and,  when  she  ceased,  the  still- 
ness that  followed  seemed  quivering  with  the  rich  vibra- 
tions of  her  voice — the  very  air  was  surely  rendered 
softer  and  more  delicate  by  such  soul-moving  sound! 

But  Theos,  who  had  listened  dumbly  until  now,  began 
to  feel  a  sudden  sorrowful  aching  at  his  heart;  a  sense 
of  coming  desolation;  a  consciousness  that  she  would 
soon  depart  again  and  leave  him;  and,  with  a  mingled 
reverence  and  passion,  ventured  to  draw  one  of  the  fair 
hands  that  rested  on  his  brows  down  into  his  own  clasp, 
tie  met  with  no  resistance,  and  half-happy,  half-ago- 
nized, he  pressed  his  lips  upon  its  soft  and  dazzling 
whiteness,  while  the  longing  of  his  soul  broke  forth  in 
words  of  fervid,  irrepressible  appeal. 

"Edris!"  he  implored,  "If  thou  dost  love  me,  give  me 
my  death!  Here,  now,  at  thy  feet  where  I  kneel!  Of 
what  avail  is  it  for  me  to  struggle  in  this  dark  and  diffi- 
cult world!  Oh,  deprive  me  of  this  fluctuating  breath 
called  life  and  let  me  live  indeed!  I  understand;  I  know 
all  thou  hast  said  ;  I  have  learned  my  own  sins  as  in  a 
glass  darkly.  I  have  lived  on  earth  before,  and,  as  it 
seems,  made  no  good  use  of  life — and  now,  now  I  have 
found  Thee!  Then  why  must  I  lose  thee?  thou  who 
earnest  to  me  so  sweetly  at  the  first?  Nay,  I  cannot  part 
from  thee;  I  will  not!  If  thou  leavest  me,  I  have  no 
strength  to  follow  thee;  I  shall  but  miss  the  way  to 
thine  abode!" 

"Thou  canst  not  miss  the  way!"  responded  Edris 
softly.  "Look  up,  my  Theos!  Be  of  good  cheer,  thou 
poet  to  whom  Heaven's  greatest  gifts  of  song  are  now 
accorded!  Look  up  and  tell  me,  is  not  the  way  made 
plain?" 

Slowly,  and  in  reverential  fear,  he  obeyed,  and  raised 
his  eyes,  still  holding  her  by  the  hand,  and  saw  behind 
her  a  distinctly  marked  shadow  that  seemed  flung  down- 
ward by  the  reflection  of  some  brilliant  light  above,  the 
shadow  of  a  cross,  against  which  her  delicate  figure  stood 
forth  in  shining  outlines.  Seeing,  he  understood,  but 
nevertheless  his  mind  grew  more  and  more  disquieted. 
A  thousand  misgivings  crowded  upon  him;  he  thought 
of  the  world;  he  remembered  what  it  was;  he  was  liv- 
ing in  an  age  of  heresy  and  wanton  unbelief,  where  not 
oniv  Christ's  divinity  was  made  blasphemous  meek  of, 


414  "ARDATH" 

but  where  even  God's  existence  was  itself  called  in  ques- 
tion; and  as  for  angels!  a  sort  of  shock  ran  through  his 
nerves  as  he  reflected  that  though  preachers  preached 
concerning  these  supernatural  beings;  though  the  very- 
birth  of  Christ  rested  on  angels'  testimony  ;  though  poets 
wrote  of  them,  and  painters  strove  to  deliniate  them  on 
their  most  famous  canvases,  each  and  all  thus  practically 
demonstrating  the  secret  instinctive  intuition  of  human- 
ity that  such  celestial  forms  are — yet  it  was  most  abso- 
lutely certain  that  not  a  man  in  the  prosaic  nineteenth 
century  would,  if  asked,  admit  to  any  actual  belief  in 
their  existence!  Inconsistent?  yes!  but  are  not  men  more 
inconsistent  than  the  very  beasts  of  the  field  their 
tyranny  controls?  What,  as  a  rule,  do  men  believe  in? 
Themselves!  only  themselves!  They  are,  in  their  own 
opinion,  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  of  everything;  as  if 
the  supreme  creative  force  called  God  were  incapable  of 
designing  any  higher  form  of  thinking-life  than  their 
pigmy  bodies  which  strut  on  two  legs,  and,  with  two 
eyes  and  a  small,  quickly  staggered  brain,  profess  to  un 
derstand  and  weigh  the  whole  foundation  and  plan  of 
the  universe ! 

Growing  swiftly  conscious  of  all  that,  in  the  purgatory 
of  the  present,  awaited  him,  Theos  felt  as  though  the 
earth-chasm  that  had  swallowed  up  Al-Kyris  in  his  dream 
had  opened  again  before  him,  affrighting  him  with  its 
black  depth  of  nothingness  and  annihilation,  and  in  a 
sudden  agony  of  self-distrust  he  gazed  yearningly  at  the 
fair,  wistful  face  above  him,  the  divine  beauty  that  was 
his  after  all,  if  he  only  knew  how  to  claim  it !  Something, 
he  knew  not  what,  filled  him  with  a  fiery  restlessness, 
a  passion  of  protest  and  aspiration,  which  for  a  moment 
was  so  strong  that  it  seemed  to  him  he  must,  with  one 
fierce  effort,  wrench  himself  free  from  the  trammels  of 
mortality,  and  straightway  take  upon  him  the  majesty 
of  immortal  nature,  and  so  bear  his  angel-love  company 
whithersoever  she  went.  Never  had  the  fetters  of  flesh 
weighed  upon  him  with  such  heaviness;  but,  in  spite 
of  his  feverish  longing  to  escape,  some  authoritative  yet 
gentle  force  held  him  prisoner. 

"God!"  he  muttered,  "Why  am  I  thus  bound?  Why 
can  I  not  be  free?"  . 

"Because  thy    time  for    freedom1  has    not    come!"  said 


SUNRISE  415 

Edris,  quickly  answering  his  thought.  "Because  thou 
iictst  work  to  do  that  is  not  yet  done!  Thy  poet-labors 
have,  up  till  now,  been  merely  repetition,  the  repeti- 
tion of  thy  former  self.  Go!  the  tired  world  waits  for  a 
new  gospel  of  poesy,  a  new  song  that  shall  rouse  it  from 
its  apathy,  and  bring  it  closer  unto  God  and  all  things 
high  and  fair  !  Write  !  for  the  nations  wait  for  a  trumpet- 
voice  of  truth;  the  great  poets  are  dead;  their  spirits 
are  in  heaven,  and  there  is  none  to  replace  them  on  the 
sorrowful  star  save  thou!  Not  for  fame  do  thy  work, 
nor  for  wealth,  but  for  love  and  the  glory  of  God;  for 
love  of  humanity,  for  love  of  the  beautiful,  the  pure,  the 
holy  ;  let  the  race  of  men  hear  one  more  faithful  apostle 
of  the  Divine  Unseen,  ere  earth  is  lost  in  the  withering 
light  of  a  larger  creation!  Go!  perform  thy  long-neg- 
lected mission;  that  mission  of  all  poets  worthy  the 
name,  to  raise  the  world!  Thou  shalt  'not  lack  strength 
nor  fervor,  so  long  as  thou  dost  write  for  the  benefit  of 
others.  Serve  God  and  live!  Serve  self  and  die!  Such 
is  the  eternal  law  of  spheres  invisible:  the  less  thou 
seest  of  self,  the  more  thou  seest  of  heaven!  thrust  self 
away,  and  lo!  God  invests  thee  with  his  presence!  Go 
forth  into  the  world,  a  king  uncrowned,  a  master  of 
song,  and  fear  not  that  I,  Edris,  will  forsake  thee — I, 
who  have  loved  thee  since  the  birth  of  time!" 

He  met  her  beautiful,  luminous,  inspired  eyes,  with  a 
sad  interrogativeness  in  his  own.  What  a  hard  fate 
was  meted  out  to  him!  To  teach  the  world  that  scoffed 
at  teaching;  to  rouse  the  gold  thirsting  mass  of  men  to 
a  new  sense  of  things  divine!  O  vain  task!  O  dreary 
impossibility.  Enough,  surely,  to  guide  his  own  will 
aright,  without  making  any  attempt  to  guide  the  wills 
of  others! 

Her  mandate  seemed  to  him  almost  cruel;  it  was  like 
driving  him  into  a  howling  wilderness,  when  with  one 
touch,  one  kiss,  she  might  transport  him  into  Paradise! 
If  she  were  in  the  world;  if  she  were  always  with  him — 
ah!  then  how  different,  how  easy  life  would  be.  Again 
he  thought  of  those  strange,  entrancing  words  of  hers, 
"My  other  soul,  my  king,  my  immortality's  completion!" 
and  a  sudden  wild  idea  took  swift  possession  of  his 
brain. 

!"  he  cried,  "if  I    may  not   yet    come    to  thee, 


416 

then  come  thou  to  me.  Dwell  thou  with  me.  Oh,  by  the 
force  of  my  love,  which  God  knoweth,  let  me  draw  thee, 
thou  fair  light,  into  my  heart's  gloom.  Hear  me  while 
I  swear  my  faith  to  thee  as  at  some  holy  shrine !  As  1 
live,  with  all  my  soul  I  do  accept  thy  Master  Christ, 
as  mine  utmost  good,  and  his  cross  as  my  proudest 
glory;  but  yet,  bethink  thee,  Edris,  bethink  thee  of  this 
world,  its  willful  sin,  its  scorn  of  God,  and  all  the  evil 
that  like  a  spreading  thunder-cloud  darkens  it  day  by 
day!  Oh,  wilt  thou  leave  me  desolate  and  alone? 
Fight  as  I  will,  I  shall  often  sink' under  blows;  conquer 
as  I  may,  I  shall  suffer  the  solitude  of  conquest,  unless 
thou  art  with  me!  Oh,  speak!  Is  there  no  deeper  divine 
intention  in  the  marvelous  destiny  that  has  brought  us 
together?  thou,  pure  spirit,  and  I,  weak  mortal?  Has 
love,  the  primal  mover  of  all  things,  no  hold  upon  thee? 
If  I  am,  as  thou  sayest,  thy  beloved,  loved  by  thee  so 
long,  even  while  forgetful  of  and  unworthy  of  thy  love, 
can  I  not  now,  now  when  I  am  all  thine,  persuade  thee 
to  compassionate  the  rest  of  my  brief  life  on  earth? 
Thou  art  in  woman's  shape,  here  on  this  field  of  Ardath, 
and  yet  thou  art  not  woman!  Oh,  could  my  love  con- 
strain thee,  in  God's  name,  to  wear  the  mask  of  mortal 
body  for  my  sake,  would  not  our  union  even  now  make 
the  sorrowful  star  seem  fair?  Love,  love,  love!  come 
to  mine  aid,  and  teach  me  how  to  shut  the  wings  of  this 
sweet  bird  of  paradise  in  mine  own  breast!  God!  spare 
her  to  me  for  one  of  thy  swift  moments  which  are  our 
mortal  years.  Christ,  who  became  a  mere  child  for  pity 
of  us,  let  me  learn  from' thee  the  mystic  spell  that  makes 
thine  angel  mine!" 

Carried  away  by  his  own  forceful  emotion,  he  hardly 
knew  what  he  said;  but  an  unspeakable  dizzy  joy  flooded 
his  soul,  as  he  caught  the  look  she  gave  him — a  wild, 
sweet,  amazed,  half-tender,  half-agonized,  wholly  human 
look,  suggestive  of  the  most  marvelous  possibilities!  One 
effort,  and  she  released  her  hand  from  his,  and  moved  a 
little  apart,  her  eyes  kindling  with  celestial  sympathy  is, 
which  there  was  the  very  faintest  touch  of  self-surrender. 
Self  surrender?  what!  from  an  angel  to  a  mortal?  At 
no!  it  could  not  be;  yet  he  felt  filled  all  at  once  with  « 
terrible  sense  of  povrer  that  at  the  same  time  was  ruin 
gled  with  the  deepest  humility  and  fear. 


417 

"Hush!"  she  said,  and  her  lovely  low  voice  was  tremu- 
lous; "Hush!  Thou  dost  speak  as  if  we  were  already 
in  God's  world!  I  love  thee,  Theos!  an  1  truly,  because 
thou  art  prisoned  here,  I  love  the  sad  t; nil  also;  Lut 
dost  thou  think  to  what  thou  wouldst  so  <  a^riy  persuade 
me?  To  live  a  mortal  life?  to  die?  to  pi':  s  thrcugh  the 
darkest  phases  of  world-existence  kncv.n  in  ail  the  teem- 
ing spheres?  Nay!"  and  a  look  of  pathetic  sorrow  came 
over  her  face.  "How  could  I,  even  for  thee,  my  Thecs, 
forsake  my  home  in  heaven?*' 

Her  last  words  were  half  questioning,  half  hesitating. 
Her  manner  was  as  of  one  in  doubt]  and  Thecs,  kneel- 
ing still,  surveyed  her  in  wcrshiping  silence.  Then 
he  suddenly  remembered  what  the  monk  and  mystic, 
Heliobas,  had  said  to  him  at  Dariel  on  fhe  morning  after 
his  trance  cf  soul  liberty:  "If,  as  I  conjecture,  you  have 
seen  one  of  the  fair  inhabitants  of  higher  spheres  than 
ours,  you  would  not  drag  her  spiritual  and  death  uncon- 
scious brightness  down  to  the  level  of  the  'reality'  cf 
a  merely  human  life?  Nay,  if  you  would  you  could  not!" 
And  nov/,  strange  to  say,  he  felt  that  he  could,  but  would 
not;  and  he  was  overcome  with  remcrse  and  penitence 
for  the  egotistical  nature  of  his  own  appeal. 

"My  love — my  life!"  he  said  brokenly,  "forgive  me, 
forgive  my  selfish  prayer!  Self  spoke,  not  I,  yet  I  Lad 
thought  self  dead  and  buried  forever!"  A  faint  sigh 
escaped  him.  "Believe  me,  sweet,  I  would  not  have 
thee  lose  one  hour  of  heaven's  ecstasies.  I  \vculd  not  have 
thee  saddened  by  earth's  willful  miseries — no!  not  even 
foi  that  lightning-moment  which  numbers  up  n-an's  mor- 
tal days!  Speed  back  to  Angel-land,  my  Edris!  I  will 
love  thee  till  I  die,  and  leave  the  afterward  to  Christ. 
Be  glad,  thou  fairest,  dearest  one!  Unfurl  thy  rainbow 
wings  and  fly  from  me,  and  wander  singing  through  the 
groves  of  heaven,  making  all  heaven  musical ;  perchance 
in  the  silence  of  the  night  I  may  catch  the  echo  of  Ihy 
voice  and  fancy  thou  art  near!  And  trust  ir.e,  Edris! 
trust  me;  for  my  faith  shall  not  falter,  my  hope  shall 
not  waver;  and  though  in  the  world  I  may,  I  must  have 
tribulation,  yet  will  I  believe  in  Him  who  hath  by  sim 
pie  love  overcome  the  world!" 

He  ceased  ;  a  great  quiet  seemed  to  fall  upon  him—  • 
the  quiet  of  a  deep  and  passive  resignation 


4i  8  .  "ARDATH" 

Edris  drew  nearer  to  him,  timidly  as  a  shy  bird,  yet 
with  a  wonderful  smile  quivering  on  her  lips  and  in  the 
clear  depths  of  her  starry  eyes.  Very  gently  she  placed 
her  arms  about  his  neck  and  looked  down  at  him  with 
divinely  compassionate  tenderness. 

"Thou  beloved  one!"  she  said;  "thou  whose  spirit  waa 
formerly  equal  to  mine  and  to  all  angels  in  God's  sight- 
though  through  pride  it  fell!  Learn  that  thou  art  nearei 
to  me  now  than  thou  hast  been  for  a  myriad  ages.      B<; 
tween  us  are  renewed  the    strong,  sweet    ties  that    shal- 
nevermore  be  broken,  unless — "  and  her  voice  faltered- 
"Unless  thou  of   thine    own  free    will  break    them  agait 
in  spite  of  all  my    prayers!     For    because    thou    art    im 
mortal  even  as  I,  though  thou  art  pent  up  in  mortality 
even  so  must  ttty  will  remain  immortally  unfettered,  am1 
what  thou  dost  firmly  elect  to  do,  God  will  not  prevent 
The  dream  of  thy  past  was  a    lesson,    not  a    command 
Thou  art  free  to    forget    or    remember    it    as  thou    will 
while  on  earth,  since  it  is  only  after  death  that  memory 
is  ineffaceable,  and,  with    its    companion    remorse,  con- 
stitutes hell.     Obey  God,  or  disobey  him.     He  will  no* 
force  thee  either  way;  constrained    love    hath  no  value! 
Only  this  is    the    universal    law,   that    whosoever    diso 
beys,  his  disobedience    recoils    on  his  own    head,  as    oi 
necessity  it  must;  whereas  obedience  is  the    working    ir 
perfect  harmony  with  all  nature,  and  of  equal  necessit) 
brings  its  own  reward.     Cling  to  the    cross  for   one  mo- 
ment— the  moment  called    by  mortals  life — and    it  shall 
lift  thee  straightway  into  highest  heaven!     There  will  1 
wait  for  thee,  and  there  thou  shalt  make  me  thine    own 
forever!" 

He  sighed  and  gazed  at  her  wistfully. 

"Alas,  my  Edris!     Not  till  then?"  he  murmured. 

She  bent  over  him  and  kissed  his  forehead;  a  caress 
as  brief  and  light  as  the  passing  flutter  of  a  bird's  wing. 

"Not  till  then!"  she  whispered.  "Unless  the  longing 
of  thy  love  compels!" 

He  started.  What  did  she  mean?  His  eyes  flasher! 
eager  inquiry  into  hers,  so  soft  and  brilliantly  clear, 
with  the  light  of  an  eternal  peace  dwelling  in  their 
liquid,  mysterious  ioveliness,  and,  mr^g^f  his qsestfct: 
ing  look,  the  angelic  smile  brightened  more  gloriously 
round  her  lips.  But  there  was  now  something  altogether 


4i$ 

unearthly  in  her  beauty;  a  wondrous  inward  luminous- 
ness  began  to  transfigure  her  face  and  foim.  He  saw 
her  garments  whiten  to  a  sparkling  radiance  as  of  sup- 
beams  on  snow;  the  halo  round  her  bright  hair  deepened 
into  flame-like  glory;  her  stature  grew  loftier,  aifd  be- 
rame,  as  it  were,  endowed  with  supreme  and  splendid 
majesty;  and  the  exquisite  fairness  of  her  countenance 
waxed  warmly  transparent,  with  the  delicate  hue  of  a 
white  rose,  through  which  the  pink  color  faintly  flushes 
soft  suggestions  of  ruddier  life.  His  gaze  dwelt  upon  her 
in  unspeakable,  wondering  adoration,  mingled  with  a 
sense  of  irrepressible  sorrow  and  heaviness  of  heart;  he 
felt  she  was  about  to  leave  him,  and  wais  it  not  a  parting 
of  soul  from  soul? 

Just  then  the  sun  stepped  royally  forth  from  between 
the  red  and  gold  curtains  of  the  east,  and  in  that  blaze 
of  earth's  life  radiance  her  figure  became  resplendentl) 
invested  with  vivid  rays  of  roseate  luster  that  far  sur- 
passed the  amber  shining  of  the  orb  of  day!  Awed, 
dazzled,  and  utterly  overcome,  he  yet  strove  to  keep  his 
straining  eyes  steadily  upon  her,  conscious  that  her  smile 
still  blessed  him  with  its  tenderness.  He  made  a  wild 
effort  to  drag  himself  nearer  to  her,  to  touch  once  more 
the  glittering  edge  of  her  robe,  to  detain  her  one  little 
moment  longer!  Ah!  how  wistfully,how  fondly  she  looked 
upon  him!  Almost  it  seemed  as  if  she  might,  after  all, 
consent  to  stay!  He  stretched  out  his  arms  with  a  pa- 
thetic gesture  of  love,  fear,  and  soul-passionate  suppli- 
cation. 

"Edris!  Edris!"  he  cried  half  despairingly.  "Oh,  by 
the  strength  of  thine  angelhood  have  pity  on  the  weak- 
ness of  my  manhood!" 

Surely  she  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear!  and  yet  she  gave 
no  answer!  No  sign;  no  promise;  no  gesture  of  fare- 
well; only  a  look  of  divine,  compassionating,  perfect 
love,  a  look  so  pure,  so  penetrating,  so  true,  so  raptur- 
ous, that  flesh  and  blood  could  bear  the  glory  of  her 
transfigured  presence  no  longer,  and,  blind  with  the 
burning  effulgence  of  her  beauty,  he  shut  his  eyes  and 
covered  his  face.  He  knew  now,  if  he  had  never  known 
it  before,  what  was  meant  by  "an  angel  standing  in  the 
Moreover,  he  also  knew  that  what  humanity  calls 

*Rev«lation   chap     dx  v    sy. 


420  "ARDATH" 

"miracles"  are  possible,  and  do  happen,  and  that  instead 
of  being  violations  of  the  law  of  nature  as  we  under- 
stand it,  they  are  but  confirmations  of  that  law  in  its 
deeper  depths,  depths  which,  controlled  by  spiritual 
force  alone,  have  not  yet  been  sounded  by  the  most 
searching  scientists.  And  what  is  material  force,  but 
the  visible  manifestation  of  the  spiritual  behind  it?  He 
who  accepts  the  material  and  denies  the  spiritual,  is  in 
the  untenable  position  of  one  who  admits  an  effect  and 
denies  a  cause!  And  if  both  spiritual  and  material  be 
accepted,  then  how  can  we  reasonably  dare  to  set  a  limit 
to  the  manifestations  of  either  the  one  or  the  other. 


When  he  at  last  looked  up,  Edris  had  vanished!  He 
was  alone — alone  on  the  field  of  "Ardath, "  the  field  that 
was  "barren"  in  very  truth,  now  she,  his  angel,  had  been 
drawn  away,  as  it  seemed,  into  the  sunlight,  absorbed 
like  a  paradise-pearl  into  those  rays  of  life-giving  gold 
that  lit  and  warmed  the  reddening  earth  and  heaven! 

Slowly  and  dizzily  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  gazed  about 
him  in  vague  bewilderment.  He  had  passed  one  night 
on  the  field!  One  night  only;  and  he  felt  as  though  he 
had  lived  through  years  of  experience !  Now,  the  vision 
was  ended,  Edris,  the  reality,  had  fled,  and  the  world 
was  before  him;  the  world,  with  all  the  unsatisfying 
things  it  grudgingly  offers ;  the  world  in  which  Al-Kyris 
had  been  a  "city  magnificent"  in  the  centuries  gone, 
and  in  which  he,  too,  had  played  his  part  before,  and 
had  won  fame,  to  be  forgotten  as  soon  as  dead!  Fame! 
how  he  had  longed  and  thirsted  for  it;  and  what  a  fool- 
ish, undesirable  distinction  it  seemed  to  him  now! 

Steadying  his  thoughts  by  a  few  moments  of  calm  re- 
flection, he  remembered  what  he  had  in  charge  to  do, 
to  rsdeem  his  past!  To  use  and  expend  whatever  force 
was  in  him  for  the  good,  the  help,  the  consolement,  and 
the  love  of  others,  not  to  benefit  himself!  This  was 
his  task,  and  the  very  comprehension  of  it  gave  him  a 
rush  of  vigor  and  virile  energy  that  at  once  lifted  the 
cloud  of  love-loneliness  from  his  soul. 

"My  Edris! "  he  whispered,  "thou  shall  have  no  cause 


to  weep  for  me  in  heaven  again.  With  God's  help  I  will 
•win  back  my  lost  heritage!" 

As  he  spoke  the  words,  his  eyes  caught  a  glimpse  of 
something  white  on  the  turf  where,  but  a  moment  since, 
his  angel-love  had  stood.  He  stooped  toward  it;  it  was 
one  half-opened  bud  of  the  wonderful  '  Ardath  flowers" 
that  had  covered  the  field  in  such  singular  profusion  on 
the  previous  night  when  she  first  appeared.  One  only! 
might  he  not  gather  it? 

He  hesitated  j  then  very  gently  and  reverently  broke 
it  off,  and  tenderly  bore  it  to  his  lips.  What  a  beau- 
tiful blossom  it  was!  its  fragrance  was  unlike  that  of 
any  other  flower;  its  whiteness  was  more  pure  and  soft 
than  that  of  the  rarest  edelweiss  on  Alpine  snows,  and 
its  partially  disclosed  golden  center  had  an  almost  lu- 
minous brightness.  As  he  held  it  in  his  hand,  all  sorts 
of  vague,  delicious  thoughts  came  sweeping  across  his 
brain;  thoughts  that  seemed  to  set  themselves  to  music 
wild  and  strange  and  new,  and  suggestive  of  the  sweet- 
est, noblest  influences!  A  thrill  of  expectation  stirred 
in  him,  as  of  great  and  good  things  to  be  done;  grand 
changes  to  be  wrought  in  the  complex  web  of  human 
destiny,  brought  about  by  the  quickening  and  develop- 
ment of  a  pure,  unselfish  spiritual  force,  that  might 
with  saving  benefit  flow  into  the  perplexed  and  weary 
intelligence  of  man;  and  cheered,  invigorated,  and  con- 
scious of  a  circling,  widening,  ever-present  supreme 
Power  that  with  all-surrounding  love  was  ever  on  the 
side  of  work  done  for  love's  sake,  he  gently  shut  the 
flower  within  his  breast,  resolving  to  carry  it  with  him 
wheresoever  he  went,  as  a  token  and  proof  of  the  "signs 
and  wonders"  of  the  prophet's  field. 

And  now  he  prepared  to  quit  the  scene  of  his  mystic 
vision,  in  which  he  had  followed  with  prescient  pain 
the  brief,  bright  career,  the  useless  fame,  the  evil  love- 
passion,  and  final  fate  of  bis  former  self;  and  crossing 
the  field  with  lingering  tread,  he  looked  back  many 
times  to  the  fallen  block  of  stone  where  he  had  first  per- 
ceived God's  maiden  Edris,  stepping  softly  through  the 
bloom.  When  should  he  again  meet  her?  Alas!  not  till 
death,  the  beautiful  and  beneficent  herald  of  true  liberty, 
summoned  him  to  those  lofty  heights  of  Paradise  where 
she  had  habitation.  Not  till  then— unless— unless— and 


his  heart  beat  with  a  sudden  tumult  as  he  recollected 
her  last  words — "unless  the  longing  of  thy  love  com- 
pels!" 

Could  love  compel  her,  he  wondered,  to  come  to  him 
once  more  while  yet  he  lived  on  earth?  Perhaps;  and 
yet  if  he  indeed  had  such  power  of  love,  would  it  be 
generous  or  just  to  exert  it?  No;  for  to  draw  her  down 
from  heaven  to  earth  seemed  to  him  now  a  sort  of  sac- 
rilege; dearer  to  him  was  her  joy  than  his  own.  But 
suppose  the  possibility  of  her  being  actually  happy  with 
him  in  mortal  e/xistence;  suppose  that  love,  when  abso- 
lutely pure,  unselfishly  mutual,  helpful  and  steadfast, 
had  it  in  its  gift  to  make  even  the  sorrowful  star  a 
heaven  in  miniature — what  then? 

He  would  not  trust  himself  to  think  of  this.  The 
mere  shadowy  suggestion  of  such  supreme  delight  filled 
him  with  a  strong  passion  of  yearning,  to  which,  in  his 
accepted  creed  of  self-abnegation,  he  dared  not  yield! 
Firmly  restraining,  resisting,  and  renouncing  his  own 
desires,  he  mentally  raised  a  holy  shrine  for  her  in  his 
soul,  a  shrine  of  pure  faith,  warm  with  eternal  aspira- 
tions and  bright  with  truth,  wherein  he  hallowed  the 
memory  of  her  beauty  with  a  sense  of  devout,  lover-like 
gladness.  She  was  safe;  she  was  content;  she  blossomed 
flower-like  in  the  highest  gardens  of  God,  where  all  things 
fared  well;  enough  for  him  to  worship  her  at  a  distance, 
to  keep  the  clear  reflection  of  her  loveliness  in  his  mind, 
and  to  live  so  that  he  might  deserve  to  follow  and  find 
her  when  his  work  on  earth  was  done.  Moreover, 
heaven  to  him  was  no  longer  a  vague,  mythical  realm, 
ill-defined  by  the  prosy  descriptions  of  church-preachers. 
It  was  an  actual  WORLD  to  which  he  was  linked,  in 
which  he  had  possessions,  of  which  he  was  a  native,  and 
for  the  perpetuation  and  enlargement  of  whose  splendor 
all  worlds  existed! 

Arrived  at  the  boundary  of  the  field,  the  spot  marked 
by  the  broken,  half-buried  pillar  of  red  granite  Heliobas 
had  mentioned,  he  paused,  thinking  dreamily  of  the 
words  of  Esdras,  who  in  answer  to  his  angel-visitant's 
inquiry,  "Why  art  thou  so  disquieted?"  had  replied, 
"Because  thou  hast  forsaken  me,  and  yet  I  did  accord- 
ing to  thy  words,  and  I  went  into  the  field  and  lo!  I 
have  seen  and  yet  see,  that  J  am  not  able  to  express." 


SUNRISE  423 

Whereupon  the  angel  had  said,  "Stand  up  manfully  and 
I  will  advise  thee!" 

"Stand  up  manfully!"  Yes!  this  is  what  he,  Thcos 
Alwyn,  meant  to  do.  He  would  "stand  up  manfu...y" 
against  the  howling  iconoclasm  and  atheism  of  the  age; 
he  would  be  poet  henceforth  in  the  true  meaning  of  the 
word,  namely,  maker;  he  would  make,  not  break  the 
grand  ideal  hopes  and  heaven  climbing  ambitions  cf  hu- 
manity. He  would  endeavor  his  utmost  best  to  be  that 
"hierarch  and  pontiff  of  the  world,'  as  a  modern  rugged 
apostle  of  truth  has  nobly  said,  "who  Prcmetheus-like 
can  shape  new  symbols  and  bring  new  fire  from  heaven 
to  fix  them  into  the  deep  infinite  faculties  of  man." 

With  a  brief,silent  prayer  he  turned  away  at  last  and 
walked  slowly  in  the  lovely  silence  of  the  early  Eastern 
morning,  back  to  the  place  from  whence  he  had  last 
night  wandered,  the  hermitage  of  Elz£ar,  near  the  ruin.c 
of  Babylon.  He  soon  came  in  sight  cf  it,  and  also  per- 
ceived Elzdar  himself,  stooping  over  a  small  plot  of 
ground  in  front  of  his  dwelling,  apparently  gathering 
herbs.  When  he  approached,  the  old  man  looked  up 
and  smiled,  giving  him  a  silent,  expressively  courteous 
morning  greeting  ;  by  his  manner  it  was  evident  that  he 
thought  his  guest  had  merely  been  out  for  an  early  stroll 
ere  the  heat  cf  the  day  set  in.  And  yet  Al-Kyris!  How 
real  had  seemed  that  dream  existence  in  that  dream-city! 
The  figure  of  Elzear  looked  scarcely  more  substantial 
than  the  phantom  forms  of  Sah-luma,  Zephoranim, 
Khosrul,  Zuriel,  or  Zabastes;  while  Lysia's  exquisite 
face  and  seductive  form,  Niphrats's  pensive  beauty,  and 
all  the  local  characteristics  of  the  place,  were  stamped 
on  the  dreamer's  memory  as  faithfully  as  scenes  flashed 
by  the  sun  on  the  plates  of  photography !  True,  the 
pictures  were  perhaps  now  slightly  fading  into  the  sim- 
ilitude of  pale  negatives;  but  still,  would  not  everything 
that  happened  in  the  actual  world  merge  into  that  same 
undecided  dimness  with  the  lapse  of  time? 

He  thought  so,  and  smiled  at  the  thought;  the  transi- 
tory nature  of  earthly  things  was  a  subject  for  joy  to 
him  now,  not  regret.  With  a  kindly  word  or  two  to  his 
venerable  host,  he  went  through  the  open  dcor  of  the 
hermitage  and  entered  the  little  room  he  had  left  only  T, 
few  hours  previously.  It  appeared  to  him  as  familiar 


424  "ARDATH" 

and  atffamiliar  as  Al  Kyris  itself,  till  raising  his  eyes 
he  saw  the  great  crucifix  against  the  wall,  the  sacred 
symbol  whose  meaning  he  had  forgotten  and  hopelessly 
longed  for  in  his  dream,  and  from  which,  before  his 
visit  to  the  field  of  "Ardath,"  he  had  turned  with  a  sense 
of  bitter  scorn  and  proud  rejection.  But  now — now  he 
gazed  upon  it  in  unspeakable  remorse,  in  tenderest  de- 
sire to  atone;  the  sweet,  grave,  patient  eyes  of  the  holy 
figure  seemed  to  meet  his  with  a  wondrous  challenge  of 
love,  longing,  and  most  fraternal,  sympathetic  compre- 
hension of  his  nature.  He  paused,  looking,  and  the  pre- 
eminently false  words  of  George  Herbert  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  him,  "Thy  Savior  sentenced  joy!"  O  blasphemy! 
Sentenced  joy?  Nay!  rather  re-created  it,  and  invested 
it  with  divine  certainties,  beyond  all  temporal  change 
or  vanishment!  Yielding  to  a  swift  impulse,  he  threw 
himself  on  his  knees,  and  with  clasped  hands  leaned  his 
brows  against  the  feet  of  the  sculptured  Christ.  There 
he  rested  in  wordless  peace,  his  whole  soul  entranced 
in  a  divine  passion  of  faith,  hope,  and  love  ;  there  with 
the  "Ardath  flower"  in  his  breast  he  consecrated  his  life 
to  the  highest  good,  and  there  in  absolute  humility  and 
pure,  child-like  devotion  he  crucified  SELF  forever. 


PART  III. 

POET  AND  ANGEL 


1  O  golden  hair!     .     .     O  gladness  of  an  houi 
Made  flesh  and  blood!" 


"  Who  speaks  of  glory  and  the  force  of  love 
And  thou  not  near,  my  maiden-minded  dove! 
With  all  the  coyness,  all  the  beauty  sheen 
Of  thy  rapt  face?     A  fearless  virgin-queen, 
A  queen  of  peace  art  thou,  and  on  thy  head 
The  golden  light  of  all  thy  hair  is  shed 

Most  nimbus-like,  and  most  suggestive  too 
Of  youthful  saints  enshrined  and  garlanded. 


Our  thoughts  are  free— and  mine  have  found  at  last 

Their  apt  solution,  and  from  out  the  Past 

There  seems  to  shine  as  'twere  a  beacon-fire: 

And  all  the  land  is  lit  with  large  desire 

Of  lambent  glory;  all  the  quivering  sea 

Is  big  with  waves  that  wait  the  morn's  decree 

As  I,  thy  vassal,  wait  thy  beckoning  smile 
Athwart  the  splendors  of  my  dreams  of  thee!" 

"A  Lover's  Litanies." — ERIC  MACKAY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FRESH     LAURELS. 

IT  was  a  dismal  March  evening.     London  lay  swathed 
in  a  melancholy  fog,  a  fog  too  dense  to    be    more    than 
temporarily  disturbed  even  by  the    sudden  gusts    of  the 
bitter  east  wind.    Rain  fell  steadily,  sometimes  changing 
to  sleet,  that  drove  in  sharp  showers  on  the  slippery  roads 
and  pavements,  bewildering  the  tired  horses  and  stirring 
up  much  irritation  in    the  minds    of    those  ill-fated  foot- 
passengers  whom  business,  certainly  not  pleasure,  forced 
to  encounter  the  inconveniences  of  the  weather.   Against 
one  house  in  particular,  an  old-fashioned,  irregular  build- 
ing situated  in  a  somewhat    out-of  the  way    but    pictur- 
esque part  of  Kensington,  the  cold,  wet  blast  blew  with 
specially  keen    ferocity,  as    though   it    were    angered  by 
the  sounds  within,  sounds  that  in  truth  rather  resembled 
its  own  cross  groaning.     Curious   short  grunts  and  plain- 
tive cries,  interspersed  with  an  occasional  pathetic,  long- 
drawn  whine,  suggested    dimly  the  idea    that   somebody 
was  playing,  or  trying  to  play    en    a  refractory    stringed 
instrument,  the  well-worn  composition    known    as  Raff's 
"Cavatina. "     And,    in    fact,  had    the    vexed    wind  been 
able  to  break  through  the  wall  and  embody  itself  into  a 
substantial  bsing,  it  would  have   discovered  the  producer 
of  the  half-fierce,  half  mournful   noise    in    the  person  of 
the  Honorable  Frank  Villiers,    who  with  that  amazingly 
serious  ardor  so    often    displayed  by    amateur    lovers  of 
*music,    was  persistently  endeavoring  to  combat  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  violoncello.    He  adored  his  big  instrument; 
the  more  unmanageable  it  became  in  his  hands,  the  more 
he  loved  it.   Its  grumbling  complaints  at    his    unskillful 
touch  delighted  him.      When  he  could  succeed  in  awak- 
ening a  peevish,    dull  sob  from  its    troubled    depths,  he 
felt  a  positive  thrill  of  almost  professional  triumph,  and 
he  refused  to  be  daunted  in  his  efforts  by  the  frequently 
barbaric  clamor    his    awkward    lowing    v.rnng    from  the 


428  "ARDATH" 

tortured  strings.  He  tried  every  sort  of  music,  easy 
and  intricate,  and  his  happiest  hours  were  those  when, 
with  glass  in  eye  and  brow  knitted  in  anxious  scrutiny, 
he  could  peer  his  way  through  the  labyrinth  of  a  sonata 
or  fantasia  much  too  complex  for  any  one  but  a  trained 
artist,  enjoying  to  the  full  the  mental  excitement  of 
the  discordant  struggle,  and  comfortably  conscious  that, 
as  his  residence  was  "detached,"  no  obtrusive  neighbor 
could  either  warn  him  to  desist  or  set  up  an  opposition 
nuisance  next  door  by  constant  practice  on  the  distress- 
ingly over-popular  piano.  One  thing  very  much  in  his 
favor  was  that  he  never  manifested  any  desire  to  per- 
form in  public.  No  one  had  ever  heard  him  play;  he 
pursued  his  favorite  amusement  in  solitude,  and  was 
amply  satisfied  if,  when  questioned  on  the  subject  of 
music,  he  could  find  an  opportunity  to  say,  with  a  con- 
scious, modest  air,  "My  instrument  is  the  "cello."  That 
was  quite  enough  self-assertion  for  him,  and  if  any  one 
ever  urged  him  to  display  his  talent,  he  would  elude  the 
request  with  such  charming  grace  and  diffidence  that 
many  people  imagined  he  must  really  be  a  great  musical 
genius  who  only  lacked  the  necessary  insolence  and 
aplomb  to  make  that  genius  known.  The  'cello  apart, 
Villiers  was  very  generally  recognized  as  a  discerning 
dilettante  in  most  matters  artistic.  He  was  an  excellent 
judge  of  literature,  painting,  and  sculpture;  his  house, 
though  small,  was  a  perfect  model  of  taste  in  design 
and  adornment;  he  knew  where  to  pick  up  choice  bits 
of  antique  furniture,  dainty  porcelain,  bronzes,  and  wood- 
carvings,  while  in  the  acquisition  of  rare  books  he  was 
justly  considered  a  notable  connoisseur.  His  delicate 
and  fastidious  instincts  were  displayed  in  the  very 
arrangement  of  his  numerous  volumes — none  were  placed 
on  such  high  shelves  as  to  be  out  of  hand-reach;  all 
were  within  close  touch  and  ready  to  command,  ranged 
in  low  carved  oak  cases  or  on  revolving  stands,  while 
a  few  particularly  rare  editions  and  first  folios  were  shut 
in  in  curious  little  side-niches  with  locked  glass  doors, 
somewhat  resembling  small  shrines  such  as  are  used  for 
the  reception  of  sacred  relics.  The  apartment  he  called 
his  "den,"  where  he  now  sat  practicing  the  "Cavatina" 
for  about  the  two  hundredth  time,  was  perhaps  the 
most  fascinating  nook  in  the  whole  house,  inasmuch  aa 


FRESH    LAURELS  429 

it  contained  a  little  bit  of  everything, arranged  with  that 
perfect  attention  to  detail  which  makes  each  object, 
small  and  great,  appear  not  only  ornamental,  but  posi- 
tively necessary.  In  one  corner  a  quaint  old  jar  over- 
flowed with  the  brightness  of  fresh  yellow  daffodils  ;  in 
another  a  long,  tapering  Venetian  vase  held  feathery 
clusters  of  African  grass  and  fern;  here  the  medallion  of 
a  Greek  philosopher  or  Roman  emperor  gleamed  whitely 
against  the  somberly  painted  wall ;  there  a  Rembrandt 
portrait  flashed  out  from  the  semi  obscure  background 
of  some  rich,  carefully  disposed  fold  of  drapery,  while 
a  few  admirable  casts  from  the  antique  lit  up  the  deeper 
shadows  of  the  room,  such  as  the  immortally  youthful 
head  of  the  Apollo  Belvedere,  the  wisely  serene  counte- 
nance of  the  Pallas  Athene  that  Goethe  loved,  and  the 
Cupid  of  Praxiteles. 

Judging  from  his  outward  appearance  only,  few  would 
have  given  Villiers  credit  for  being  the  man  of  penetra- 
tive and  almost  classic  refinement  he  really  was;  he 
looked  far  more  athletic  than  aesthetic.  Broad  shouldered 
and  deep-chested,  with  a  round,  blunt  head  firmly  set 
on  a  full,  strong  throat,  he  had  on  the  whole  a  some- 
what obstinate  and  pugilistic  air  which  totally  belied  his 
nature.  His  features,  open  and  ruddy,  were,  without 
being  handsome,  decidedly  attractive;  the  mouth  was 
rather  large,  yet  good-tempered;  the  eyes  bright,  blue, 
and  sparklingly  suggestive  of  a  native  inborn  love  of 
humor.  There  was  something  fresh  and  piquant  in  the 
very  expression  of  naive  bewilderment  with  which  he 
now  adjusted  his  eyeglass,  a  wholly  unnecessary  appen- 
dage, and  set  himself  strenuously  to  examine  anew  the 
chords  of  that  extraordinary  piece  of  music  which  others 
thought  so  easy  and  which  he  found  so  puzzling;  he 
could  manage  the  simple  melody  fairly  well,  but  the 
chords! 

"They  are  the  very  devil!"  he  murmured  plaintively, 
staring  at  the  score  and  hitching  up  his  unruly  instru- 
ment more  securely  against  his  knee.  "Perhaps  the 
bow  wants  a  little  rosin." 

This  was  one  of  his  minor  weaknesses ;  he  would 
never  quite  admit  that  false  notes  were  his  own  fault. 
"They  couldn't  be,  you  know!"  he  mildly  argued,  ad- 
dressing the  obtrusive  neck  of  th,e  'cello,  which  had  a 


43°  "ARDATH" 

curiously  stubborn  way  of  poking  itself  into  his  chin 
and  causing  him  to  wonder  how  it  got  there.  Surely 
the  manner  in  which  he  held  it  had  nothing  to  do  with 
this  awkward  occurrence!  "I'm  not  such  a  fool  as  not 
to  understand  how  to  find  the  right  notes  aLer  all  my 
practice!  There's  something  wrong  with  the  strings,  or 
the  bridge  has  gone  awry,  or" — and  this  was  his  last  re- 
source— "the  bow  wants  more  rosin!" 

Thus  he  hugged  himself  in  deliciously  willful  igno-' 
ranee  of  his  own  shortcomings,  and  shut  his  ears  to  the 
whispered  reproaches  of  musical  conscience.  Had  he 
been  married,  his  wife  would  no  doubt  have  lost  no  time 
in  enlightening  him.  She  would  have  told  him  he  was 
a  wretched  player,  that  his  scrapings  on  the  'cello  were 
enough  to  drive  one  mad,  and  sundry  other  assurances 
of  the  perfectly  conjugal  type  of  frankness;  but  as  it 
chanced,  he  was  a  happy  bachelor,  a  free  and  independ- 
ent man  with  more  than  sufficient  means  to  gratify  his 
particular  tastes  and  whims.  He  was  partner  in  a  stead- 
ily prosperous  banking  concern,  and  had  just  enough  to 
do  to  keep  him  pleasantly  and  profitably  occupied.  Asked 
why  he  did  not  marry,  he  replied,  with  blunt  and  almost 
brutal  honesty,  that  he  had  never  yet  met  a  woman  whose 
conversation  he  could  stand  for  more  than  an  hour. 

"Silly  or  clever,"  he  said,  "they  are  all  possessed  of 
the  same  infinite  tedium.  Either  they  say  nothing  or 
they  say  everything;  they  are  always  at  the  two  ex- 
tremes, and  announce  themselves  as  dunces  or  blue- 
stockings. One  wants  the  just  medium,  the  dainty 
commingling  of  simplicity  and  wisdom  that  shall  yet  be 
pure  womanly,  and  this  is  precisely  the  jewel  'far  above 
rubies'  that  one  cannot  find.  I've  given  up  the  search 
long  ago,  and  am  entirely  resigned  to  my  lot.  I  like 
women  very  well,  I  may  say  very  much,  as  friends,  but 
to  take  one  on  chance  as  a  comrade  for  life— no,  thank 
you!" 

Such  was  his  fixed  opinion  and  consequent  rejection 
of  matrimony;  and  for  the  rest,  he  studied  art  and  lit- 
erature and  became  an  authority  on  both,  so  much  so 
that  on  one  occasion  he  kept  a  goodly  number  of  X-cP^e 
away  from  visiting  the  Royal  Academy  exlv':/irl<rri,  he 
having  voted  it  a  "disgrace  to  art." 

"English  artists  occupy  the   last    grade  i;     *'.o*  whole 


LAURELS 


school  of  painting,"  he  had  said  indignantly,    with  that 
decisive  manner  of  his  which  somehow  or  other    carried 
conviction.      "The  very  Dutch  surpass  them,  and  instead 
of  trying  to  raise    their    standard,  each  year    sees    them 
groveling  in  lower  depths.     The    Academy    is  becoming 
a  mere    gallery  of    portraits,  painted    to  please    the    ca- 
prices of  vain  men    and    women    at  a    thousand    or    two 
thousand  guineas    apiece;    ugly    portraits,    too,  wooden, 
portraits,  utterly  uninteresting    portraits  of    prosaic    no- 
bodies.  Who  cares  to  see  'No.    154.      Mrs.  Flummery  in 
her  presentation  dress,'    except    Mrs.     Fummery's   own 
particular  friends?     Or   '283.    Miss  Smox,   eldest  daugh- 
ter of  Professor  A.  T,  Smox?'     Or   '546.      Baines  Bryce, 
Esq.?'     Who  is  Baines    Bryce?     Nobody    ever   heard  of 
him  before.      He  may  be  a    retired    pork    butcher  for  all 
any  one    knows!     Portraits,    even    of    celebrities,    are    a 
mistake.     Take    Algernon    Charles    Swinburne,   for    in- 
stance, the  man  who,  when  left  to  himself,  writes    some 
of  the  grandest  lines  in  the    English    language;     he  had 
his  portrait    in  the    Academy,  and    everybody    ran  away 
from  it,  it  was  such  an  unutterably  hideous    disappoint- 
ment.     It  was    a  positive    libel,  of    course.     Swinburne 
has  certainly  not  much  beauty,  but  instead  of  idealizing 
the  poet  in  him,  the  silly  artist  painted  him  as  if  he  had 
no  more  intellectual  distinction  than  a    bill-sticker.    En- 
glish art!  pooh!  don'  t  speak  to  me  about  it!   Go  to  Spain, 
Italy,  Bavaria  —  see  what    they    can   do,  and    then    say  a 
Miserere  for  the  sins  of  the  R.   A's!" 

Thus  he  would  talk,  and  his  criticisms  carried  weight 
with  a  tolerably  large  circle  of  influential  and  wealthy 
persons,  who,  when  they  called  upon  him  and  saw  the 
perfection  of  his  house  and  the  rarity  of  his  art-collec- 
tions, came  at  once  to.  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be 
wise,  as  well  as  advantageous  to  themselves,  to  consult 
him  before  purchasing  pictures,  books,  statues,  or  china, 
BO  that  he  occupied  the  powerful  position  of  being  able 
with  a  word  to  start  an  artist's  reputation  or  depreciate 
it,  as  he  chose,  a  distinction  he  had  not  desired,  and 
which  was  often  a  source  of  trouble  to  him,  because  there 
were  so  few,  so  very  few,  whose  work  he  felt  he  could 
conscientiously  approve  and  encourage.  He  was  em- 
inently good-natured  and  sympathetic;  he  could  not 
give  pain  to  others  without  being  infinitely  more  pained 


432  "ARDATH" 

himself  and  yet,  for  all  his  amiability,  there  was  a  stub- 
born instinct  in  him  which  forbade  him  to  promote,  by 
word  or  look,  the  f^tal  nineteenth-century  spread  oi 
mediocrity.  Either  a  thing  must  be  truly  great  and  ca- 
pable of  being  measured  by  the  .  !ghest  standards,  or  for 
him  it  had  no  value.  This  rule  he  carried  out  iu  all 
branches  of  art  except  his  own  'cello-playing.  That  was 
not  great,  that  would  never  be  great,  but  it  was  his  pet 
pastime;  he  chose  it  in  preference  to  the  billiards,  bet- 
ting, and  bar-lounging  that  make  up  the  amusements  of 
the  majority  of  the  hopeful  manhood  of  London,  and,  as 
has  been  said,  he  never  inflicted  it  on  others. 

He  rubbed  the  rosin  now  thoroughly  up  and  down  his 
bow  and  glanced  at  the  quaint  old  clock — an  importa- 
tion from  Niirnberg — that  ticked  solemnly  in  one  corner 
near  the  deep  bay-window,  across  which  the  heavy  olive- 
green  plush  curtains  were  drawn,  to  shut  out  the  pene- 
trating chill  of  the  wind.  It  wanted  ten  minutes  to 
nine.  He  had  given  orders  to  his  man-servant  that  he 
was  on  no  account  to  be  disturbed  that  evening;  no 
matter  what  visitors  called  for  him,  none  were  to  be  ad- 
mitted. He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  have  a  long  and 
energetic  practice,  and  he  felt  a  secret  satisfaction  as 
he  heard  the  steady  patter  of  the  rain  outside  ;  the  very 
weather  favored  his  desire  for  solitude;  no  one  was  likely 
to  venture  forth  on  such  a  night. 

Still  gravely  rubbing  his  bow,  his  eyes  traveled  from 
the  clock  in  the  corner  to  a  photograph  on  the  mantel- 
shelf— the  photograph  of  a  man's  face,  dark,  haughty, 
beautiful,  yet  repellent  in  its  beauty,  and  with  a  certain 
hard  sternness  in  its  outline — 'the  face  of  Theos  Alwyn. 
From  this  portrait  his  glance  wandered  to  the  table, 
where  amid  a  picturesque  litter  of  books  and  papers, 
lay  a  square,  simply  bound  volume  with  an  ivory  leaf- 
cutter  thrust  in  it  to  mark  the  place  where  the  reader 
left  off,  and  its  title  plainly  lettered  in  gold  at  the  back 

— "NOURHALMA." 

"I  wonder  where  he  is!"  he  mused,  his  thoughts  nat- 
urally reverting  to  the  author  of  the  book.  "He  cannot 
know  what  all  London  knows,  or  surety  he  would  be 
back  here  like  a  shot!  It  is  six  months  ago  now  since 
I  received  his  letter  and  that  poem  in  manuscript  from 
Tiflis  in  Armenia,  and  not  another  line  has  he  sent  to 


FRESH  LAURELS  433 

tell  me  of  his  whereabouts!     Curious    fellow  he  is;    but, 
by  Jove!  what  a  genius!     No    wonder    he  has    besieged 
fame  and  taken  it  by  storm.    I  don't  remember  any  sim- 
ilar instance,  except  that  of  Byron,  in  which  such  an  un- 
precedented reputation  was  made  so  suddenly.     And  in 
Byron's  case  it  was  more  the  domestic  scandal  about  him 
than  his  actual  merit  that    made    him   the    rage.      Now, 
the  world  knows  literally  nothing  about  Alwyn's  private 
life  or  character;  there's  no  woman  in  his  history  that  I 
know  of;    no  vice ;  he    hasn't    outraged    the    law,  upset 
morals,  flouted  at  decency,  or    done    anything  that    ac- 
cording to  modern    fashions    ought  to    have    made    him 
famous.     No!  he  has  simply  produced    a    perfect  poem, 
stately,  grand,  pure,  and    pathetic,  and    all  of  a  sudden 
some  secret  spring  in  the  human  heart  is  touched,  some 
long-closed  valve  opened,  and  lo  and  behold!  all    intel- 
lectual society  is  raving  about  him;  his  name  is  in  every- 
body's mouth',  his  book    in  every  one's    hand.     I    don't 
altogether  like  his  being  made  the    subject  of    a  'craze.' 
Experience  shows  me  it's  a  kind    of  thing    that    doesn't 
last.      In  fact,  it  can't  last;   the  reaction    invariably  sets 
in.     And  the  English  public  is  of  all    publics    the    most 
insane  in  its  periodical  frenzies  and  the  most  capricious. 
Now  it  is  all  agog  for  a   'shilling  sensational;'  then  it  dis- 
cusses itself  hoarse  over  a    one-sided    theological   novf:l 
made  up  out  of  theories  long  ago    propounded    and    ex- 
haustively set  forth  by  Voltaire  and  others  of  his  school  ; 
anon  it  revels  in    the    gross    descriptions    of    shameless 
vice  depicted  in  an     'accurately    translated'   romance   of 
the  Paris  slums;  now  it  writes  thousands  of  letters  to  a 
black  man,  to  sympathize  with  him  because  he  has  been 
called  black!     Could  anything  be  more  absurd?     It    has 
even  followed  the    departure    of    an  elephant    from    the 
Zoo  in  weeping  crowds!   However,   I  wish  all  the  crazes 
to  which  it  is  subject  were  as    harmless    and  wholesome 
as  the  one  that  has  seized  i't  for  Alwyn's  book,  for  if  true 
poetry  were  brought  to  the  front   instead  of    being,  as  it 
often  is,  sneered    at    and    kept  in    the    background,  we 
should  have  a    chance    of  regaining    the  lost    divine  art 
that,  wherever  it  has  been  worthily  followed,  has  proved 
the  glory  of  the  greatest  nations.      And  then    we  should 
not  have  to  put  up  with  such  detestable  inanities  as  are 
produced  every  day  by  persons  calling  themselves  poets, 


434  "ARDATH" 

who  are  scarcely  fit  to  write  mottoes  for  dessert  crack 
ersj  and  we  might  escape  for  good  and  all  from  the  in. 
fliction  of  'magazine  verse,'  which  is  emphatically  a 
positive  affront  to  the  human  intelligence.  Ah  me!  what 
wretched  upholders  we  are  of  Shakespeare's  standard! 
Keats  was  our  last  splendor ;  then  there  is  an  unfilled 
gap,  bridged  in  part  by  Tennyson;  and  now  comes  Al- 
wyn  blazing  abroad  like  a  veritable  meteor,  only  I  be- 
lieve he  will  do  more  than  merely  flare  across  the 
heavens;  he  promises  to  become  a  notable  fixed  star." 

Here  he  smiled,  somewhat  pleased  with  his  own  skill 
in  metaphor,  and  having  rubbed  his  bow  enough,  he 
drew  it  lingeringly  across  the  'cello  strings.  A  long, 
sweet,  shuddering  sound  rewarded  him,  like  the  upward 
wave  of  a  wind  among  high  trees,  and  he  heard  it  with 
much  gratification.  He  would  try  the  "Cavatina"  again 
now,  he  decided,  and  bringing  his  music-stand  closer,  he 
settled  himself  in  readiness  to  begin.  Just  then  the 
Ntirnberg  clock  commenced  striking  the  hour,  accom- 
panying each  stroke  with  a  very  soft  and  mellow  little 
chime  of  bells  that  sent  fairy-like  echoes  through  the 
quiet  room,  A  bright  flame  started  up  from  the  glow- 
ing fire  in  the  grate,  flinging  ruddy  flashes  along  the 
walls.  A  rattling  gust  of  rain  dashed  once  at  the  win- 
dows, the  tuneful  clock  ceased,  and  all  was  still.  Villers 
waited  a  moment,  then  with  heedful  earnestness  started 
the  first  bar  of  Raff's  oft-murdered  composition,  when 
a  knock  at  the  door  disturbed  him  and  considerably 
ruffled  his  equanimity. 

"Come  in!"  he  called  testily. 

His  man-servant  appeared,  a  half  pleased,  half-guilty 
Ico  :  on  his  staid  countenance. 

"Please,  sir,  a  gentleman  called — " 

"Well!     You  said  I  was  out?' 

"No,  sir;  leastways  I  thought  you  might  be  at  home 
to  him,  sir." 

"Confound  you!"  exclaimed  Villiers  petulantly,  throw- 
ing down  his  bow  in  disgust.  "What  business  had  you 
to  think  anything  about  it?  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  wasn't 
at  home  to  anybody?" 

"Come,  come,  Villiers!"  said  a  mellow  voice  outside, 
with  a  ripple  of  suppressed  laughter  in  its  tone.  "Don't 
be  inhospitable.  I'm  sure  you  are  at  home  to  me!" 


FRESH   LAURELS  435 


Aad  passing  by  the  servant,  who  at  once  retired,  the 
speaker  entered  the  apartment,  lifted  his  hat,  and  waited. 
Villiers  sprang  from  his  chair  in  delighted  astonishment. 
"Alwyn/n  he  cried,  and  the  two  friends,  whose  friend- 
ship dated  from  boyhood,  clasped  each  ether's  hands 
heartily  and  were  for  a  moment  both  silent,  half  -ashamed 
of  those  affectionate  emotions  to  which  impulsive  wom- 
en may  freely  give  vent,  but  to  which  men  may  not  yiek 
without  being  supposed  to  lose  somewhat  of  the 
of  manhood.  , 

"By  Tove!"  said  Villiers  at  last,  drawing  .a  deep 
breath  "This  is  a  surprise.  Only  a  few  minutes  ago  I 
was  considering  whether  we  should  not  have  to  note 
you  down  in  the  newspapers  as  one  of  the  mysterious 
disappearances'  grown  common  of  late.  Where  < 
come  from,  old  fellow?" 

"From  Paris  just  directly,"   responded  Alwyn,  divesl 
me  himself  of    his    overcoat    and    stepping    outside 
door  to  hang  it  on  an  evidently  familiar  nail  in  the  pas- 
sage   and  then  re-entering,  "but  from  Bagdad  in  the  first 
instai.ee.   I  visited    that    city,  sacred    to    fairy-lore,  and 
from  th-snce  journeyed  to  Damascus    like   one  « 
vorite  merchants  in  the   'Arabian  Nights;'   then    I  went 
to  Beyrout  and    Alexandria,  from    which    latter    place  I 
took  ship  homeward,  stopping  at  delicious  Yen  ic 

°n"Thenayou  did  the  Holy    Land,  I    suppose?"   queried 
Villiers,  regarding  him  with  sudden  and  growing  mqui 


year  fellow,  certainly    not!     The  Holy  Land    in- 
vested by  touts  and  overrun    by  tourists,  would    neit 
appeal  to  my  imagination  nor  my  sentiment,  and    in  its 
present  state  of   vulgar    abuse  and  unchristian  sacr 
It  is  better  left  unseen  by  those    who  wish  to    revere  its 
associations.      Don't  you  think  so?" 

He  smiled  as  he  put  the  question,  and  drawing  up  an 
oid-fashioned  oak  chair  to  the  fire,  seated  himself.    Vil 
Hers  meanwhile  stared    at  him    in    unmitigated 
ment.     What  had    corne    to  the    fellow?     he    wondered. 
How  had  he    managed    to  invest    himself  with    such  an 
overpowering  distinction  of  look  and    grace  of  bean 
He  had  always    been  a    handsome  man-yes,  but 
was  certainly  something  more  than  handsome  abou 


436  "ARDATH" 

now.  There  was  a  singular  magnetism  in  the  flash  of 
the  fine,  soft  eyes, a  marvelous  sweetness  in  the  firm  lines 
of  the  perfect  mouth,  a  royal  grandeur  and  freedom  in 
the  very  poise  of  his  well-knit  figure  and  noble  head, 
that  certainly  had  not  before  been  apparent  in  him. 
Moreover,  that  was  an  odd  remark  for  him  to  make 
about  "wishing  to  revere"  the  associations  of  the  Holy 
Land — very  odd,  considering  his  former  skeptical  theo- 
ries! 

Rousing  himself  from  his  momentary  bewilderment, 
Villiers  remembered  the  duties  of  hospitality. 

"Ha've  you  dined,  Alwyn?"  he  asked,  with  his  hand 
on  the  bell. 

"Excellently!"  was  the  response,  accompanied  by  a 
bright  upward  glance.  "I  went  to  that  big  hotel  oppo- 
site the  park,  had  dinner,  left  the  surplus  of  my  luggage 
in  charge, selected  one  small  portmanteau,  took  a  hansom 
and  came  on  here,  resolved  to  pass  one  night  at  least 
under  your  roof — " 

"One  night!"  interrupted  Villiers.  "You're  very  much 
mistaken  if  you  think  you  are  going  to  get  off  so  easily! 
You'll  not  escape  from  me  for  a  month,  /tell  you!  Con- 
sider yourself  a  prisoner!" 

"Good!  Send  for  the  luggage  tomorrow!"  laughed 
Alwyn,  flinging  himself  back  in  his  chair  in  an  attitude 
of  lazy  comfort.  "I  give  in!  I  resign  myself  to  nv< 
fate!  But  what  of  the  'cello?" 

And  he  pointed  to  the  bulgy-looking  casket  of  sweet 
sleeping  sounds;  sleeping  generally  so  far  as  Villiers 
was  concerned,  but  ready  to  wake  at  the  first  touch  of 
the  master-hand.  Villiers  glanced  at  it  with  a  comical 
air  of  admiring  vanquishment. 

"Oh,  never  mind  the  'cello!"  he  said  indifferently. 
"That  can  bear  being  put  by  for  a  while.  It's  a  most 
curious  instrument;  sometimes  it  seems  to  sound  better 
when  I  have  let  it  rest  a  little.  Just  like  a  human 
thing,  you  know,  it  gets  occasionally  tired  of  me,  I  sup- 
pose. But,  I  say,  why  didn't  you  come  straight  here, 
bag,  biggag9,  and  all?  What  business  had  you  to  stop 
on  the  way  at  any  hotel?  Do  you  call  that  friendship?" 

Alwyn  laughed  at  his  mock-injured  tone. 

"I  apologize,  Villiers!  I  really  do!  B;it  I  felt  it 
would  be  scarcely  civil  of  me  to  come  down  upon  vou 


FRESH   LAURELS  437 

for  bed,  board,  and  lodging  without  giving  you  previous 
notice,  and  at  the  same  time  I  wanted  to  take  you  by 
surprise,  as  I  did.  Besides,  I  wasn't  sure  whether  I 
should  find  you  in  town;  of  course  I  knew  I  should  be 
welcome  if  you  were!" 

"Rather!"  assented  Villiers  shortly  and  with  affected 
gruffness.  "If  you  were  sure  of  nothing  else  in  this 
world  you  might  be  sure  of  that!"  He  paused,  squared 
his  shoulders,  and  put  up  his  eyeglass  ,  through  which 
he  scanned  his  friend  with  such  a  persistently  scrutiniz 
ing  air  that  Alwyn  was  somewhat  amused. 

"What  are  you  staring  at  me  for?"  he  demanded  gayly, 
"Am  I  so  bronzed?" 

"Well,  you  are  rather  brown,"  admitted  Villiers  slowly, 
"but  that  doesn't  surprise  me.  The  fact  is,  it's  very 
odd  and  I  can't  altogether  explain  it;  but  somehow  I 
find  you  changed,  positively  very  much  changed,  too!" 
"Changed?  In  appearance,  do  you  mean?  '  How?" 
"'Look  here  upon  this  picture  and  on  this,'"  quoted 
Villiers  dramatically,taking  down  Alwyn's  portrait  from 
the  mantel-shelf  and  mentally  comparing  it  with  the 
smiling  original.  '  "No  two  heads  were  ever  more  alike 
and  yet  more  distinctly  unlike.  Here,"  and  he  tapped  the 
photograph,  "you  have  the  appearance  of  a  modern 
Timon  or  Orestes;  but  now,  as  you  actually  are, 
more  resemblance  in  your  face  to  that,"  and  he  pointed 
to  the  serene  and  splendid  bust  of  the  Apollo,  "than  to 
this  'counterfeit  presentment'  of  your  former  self." 

Alwyn  flushed,  not  so  much     at    the    implied    compli 
ment  as  at  the  words  "former  self."      But    quickly    shak- 
ing   off    his    embarrassment,    he    glanced    round    at  the 
"Apollo"  and  lifted  his  eyebrows  incredulously. 

"Then  all  I  can  say,  my    dear    boy,  is,    that    that  eye- 
glass of  yours  represents  objects  to  your  view  in  a  classic 
light  which  is  entirely  deceptive,    for  I  fail    to    trace  the 
faintest  similitude  between  my  own  features  and  that 
the  sunborn  lord  of  laurels." 

"Oh,  you    may  not  trace  it,"  said  Villiers  calmly, 
nevertheless  others  will.   Some  people    say  that  no  man 
knows  what  he  really  is  like,  and  that  even  his    own  re- 
flection in  the  glass  deceives  him.      Besides,    it  is  not 
much  the  actual  contour  of  the    features  that     impress 
one—it  is  the  look;  you  have  the  look  of  the  Greek  god, 


the  look  of  conscious  power  and  inward  happiness." 
He  spoke  seriously,  thoughtfully,  surveying  his  friend 
with  a  vague  feeling  of  admiration  akin  to  reverence. 

Alwyn  stooped  and  stirred  the  fire  into  a  brighter  blaze. 

"Well,  so  far  my  looks  do  not  belie  me,"  he  said 
gently,after  a  pause.  "1  am  conscious  of  both  power  and 
joy!" 

"Why,  naturally!"  And  Villiers  laid  one  hand  affec- 
tionately on  his  shoulder.  "Of  course  the  face  of  the 
whole  world  has  changed  for  you,  now  that  you  have 
won  such  tremendous  fame!" 

"Fame!"     Alwyn  sprang  upright  so  suddenly  that  Vil 
liers  was  quite  startled.  "Fame!  Who  says  I  am  famous?" 
And  his  eyes  flashed  forth    an    amazed,  almost    haughty 
resentment. 

His  friend  stared,  then  laughed  outright. 

"Who  says  it?  Why,  all  London  says  it!  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me,  Alwyn,  that  you've  not  seen  the  En- 
glish papers  and  magazines  containing  all  the  critical 
reviews  and  discussions  on  your  poem  of  'Nourhalma'?" 

Alwyn  winced  at  the  title.  What  a  host  of  strange 
memories  it  recalled ! 

"I  have  seen  nothing,"  he  replied  hurriedly.  "I  have 
made  it  a  point  to  look  at  no  papers,  lest  I  should 
chance  on  my  own  name  coupled,  as  it  has  been  before, 
with  the  languid  abuse  co:nmon  to  criticism  in  thi.i 
country.  Not  that  I  should  have  cared — now!"  and  a 
slight  smile  played  on  his  lips;  "in  fact,  I  have  ceased 
to  care.  Moreover,  as  I  know  modern  success  in  liter 
ature  is  chiefly  commanded  by  the  praise  of  a  'clique' 
or  the  services  of  'log  rollers,'  and  as  I  am  not  included 
in  any  of  the  journalistic  rings,  I  have  neither  hoped 
nor  expected  any  particular  favor  or  recognition  from 
the  public."  . 

"Then,"  said  Villiers  excitedly,  seizing  him  by  the 
hand,  "let  me  be  the  first  to  congratulate  you!  It  is 
often  the  way  that,  when  we  no  longer  specially  crave  a 
thing,  that  thing  is  suddenly  thrust  upon  us  whether  we 
will  or  no,  and  so  it  happened  in  your  case.  Learn, 
therefore,  my  dear  fellow,  that  your  poem  which  you 
sent  to  me  from  Tiflis,  and  which  was  published  under 
my  supervision  about  four  months  Ago.  has  already  run 
through  six  editions  and  is  now  in  its  seventh.  Seven 


FRESH  LAURELS  4.39 

•editions  of  a  poem — a  poem,  mark  you — in  four  months, 
isn't  bad.  Moreover,  the  demand  continues,  and  the 
long  and  short  of  it  is  that  your  name  is  actually,  at  the 
present  moment,  the  most  celebrated  in  all  London;  in 
fact,  you  are  very  generally  acknowledged  the  greatest 
poet  of  the  day.  And,"  continued  Villiers,  wringing  his 
triend's  hand  with  uncommon  fervor,  <:I  say,  God  bless 
you,  old  boy!  If  ever  a  man  deserved  success,  >ou  do! 
'Nourhalma1  is  magnificent!  Such  a  genius  as  yours 
will  raise  the  literature  of  the  age  to  a  higher  standard 
than  it  has  known  since  the  death  of  Adonias*  You 
can't  imagine  how  sincerely  I  rejoice  at  your  tri- 
umph!" 

Alwyn  was  silent.  He  returned  his  companion  s  cor- 
dial hand-pressure  almost  unconsciously.  He  stood 
leaning  against  the  mantel-piece  and  looking  gravely 
down  into  the  fire.  His  first  emotion  was  one  of  repug- 
nance, of  rejection.  What  did  he  need  of  this  will-o'- 
the-wisp  called  fame,  dancing  again  across  his  path, 
this  transitory  torch  of  world-approval?  Fame  in  Lon- 
don!  What  was  it,  what  could  it  be,  compared  to  the 
brilliancy  of  the  fame  he  had  once  enjoyed  as  laureate 
of  Al-Kyris?  As  this  thought  passed  across  his  m  nd, 
he  gave  a  quick,  interrogative  glance  at  Villiers,  who 
was  observing  him  with  much  wondering  intentness,  and 
his  handsome  face  lightened  with  sudden  laughter. 

"Dear  old  boy  I"  he  said,  with  a  very  tender  inflection 
in  his  mellow,  mirthful  voice,  "you  are  the  best  of  good 
fellows,  and  I  thank  you  heartily  for  your  news,  which, 
if  it  seem  satisfactory  to  you,  ought  certainly  to  be  sat- 
isfactory to  me!  But  tell  ms  frankly,  if  I  am  as  famous 
as  you  say,  how  did  I  become  so?  How  was  it  workec 

lP"Worked  up?"     Villiers  was  completely    taken    back 
by  the  oddity  of  this  question. 

"Come!"  continued  Alwyn    persuasively,   his  fi 
sparkling  with  mischievous  good-humor,  "you  can't  make, 
me  believe  that   'all    England'  took    to  me    suddenly  c 
its  own  accord;  it  is  not  so  romantic,  so    poetry-loving, 
so  independent,  or  so  generous  as  that!     How    Vvas     my 
'celebrity'   first  started?     If  my  book,  which  has  all 
disadvantage  of  being  a  poem  instead  of  a  novel.  \ 

*  Keat*. 


440  "ARDATH" 

suddenly  leaped  into  high  favor  and  renown,  why,  then 
some  leading  critic  or  other  must  have  thought  that  I 
myself  was  dead!" 

The  whimsical  merriment  of  his  face  seemed  to  reflect 
itself  on  that  of  Villiers. 

"You're  too  quick-witted,  Alwyn,  positively  you  are!" 
he  remonstrated  with  a  frankly  humorous  smile.  "But, 
as  it  happens,  you're  perfectly  right.  Not  one  critic, 
but  M/v*-*-three  of  our  most  influential  men,  too — 
thought  you  were  dead,  and  that  'Nourhalma'  was  a 
posthumous  work  of  perished  genius/" 


CHAPTER  II. 

fABASTESISM  AND  PAULISM. 

THE  delighted  air  of  triumphant  conviction  with  which 
Alwyn  received  this  candid  statement  was  irresistible, 
and  Villiers'  attempt  at  equanimity  entirely  gave  way 
before  it.  He  broke  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  laughter 
in  which  his  friend  joined,  and  for  a  minute  or  two  the 
room  rang  with  the  echoes  of  their  mutual  mirth. 

"It  wasn't  my  doing,"  said  Villiers  at  last  whan,  he 
could  control  himself  a  little,  "and  even  now  I  don't 
in  the  least  know  how  the  misconception  arose.  'Nour- 
halma' was  published,  according  to  your  instructions,  as 
rapidly  as  it  could  be  got  through  the  press,  and  I  had 
no  preliminary  'puffs'  or  announcements  of  any  kind 
circulated  in  the  papers.  I  merely  advertised  it  with  a 
notable  simplicity  thus:  'Nourhalma:  A  Love-Legend 
of  the  Past.  A  Poem.  By  Theos  Alwyn.'  That  was 
all.  Well,  when  it  came  out  copies  of  it  were  sent, 
according  to  custom,  round  to  all  the  leading  news- 
paper offices,  and  for  about  three  weeks  after  its  publi- 
cation I  saw  not  a  word  concerning  it  anywhere.  Mean- 
while I  went  on  advertising.  One  day  at  the  Constitu- 
tional Club,  while  glancing  over  the  Parthenon,  I  sud- 
denly spied  in  it  a  long  review,  occupying  four  columns 
and  headed  'A  Wonder  Poem,"  and  just  out  of  curiosity 
I  began  to  read  it.  I  remember— in  fact,  I  shall  nsvet 


2ABASTESI3M  AND  PAUL1SM  44! 

forget — its  opening  sentence,  it  was  so  original,"  and  he 
laughed  again.  "It  commenced  thus:  'It  has  been  truly 
said  that  those  whom  the  gods  love  die  young,'  and 
then  on  it  went, dragging  in  memories  of  Chatterton  and 
Shelley  and  Keats.till  I  found  myself  }rawning  and  won- 
dering what  the  deuce  the  writer  was  driving  at.  Pres- 
ently, about  the  end  of  the  second  column,  I  came  to 
the  assertion  that  'the  posthumous  pcem  of  'Nourhalma" 
must  be  admitted  as  one  of  the  most  glorious  produc- 
tions in  the  English  language.'  This  woke  me  up  con- 
siderably, and  I  read  on,  groping  my  way  through  all 
sorts  of  wordy  phrases  and  used-up  arguments,  till  my 
mind  gradually  grasped  the  fact  that  the  critic  of  the 
Parthenon  had  evidently  never  heard  of  Theos  Alwyn 
before,  and  being  astonished  and  perhaps  perplexed  by 
Ihe  original  beauty  and  growing  style  of  'Nourhalma,' 
had  jumped,  without  warrant, to  the  conclusion  that  this 
author  must  be  dead.  The  wind-up  of  his  lengthy  dis- 
sertation was,  as  far  as  I  can  recollect,  a?  follows:  'It 
is  a  thousand  pities  this  gifted  poet  is  no  more.  Splen- 
did as  the  work  of  his  youthful  genius  is,  there  is  no 
doubt  but  that,  had  he  lived,  he  would  ha\e  endowed 
the  world  anew  with  an  inheritance  of  thought  worthy 
of  the  grandest  master-minds.'  Well,  when  I  had  fully 
realized  the  situation,  I  began  to  think  to  myself,  shall 
I  enlighten  this  Sir  Oracle  of  the  press,  and  tell  him 
the  'dead*  author  he  so  enthusiastically  eulogizes  is  alive 
and  well,  or  was  so  at  any  rate,  the  last  time  I  heard 
from  him?  I  debated  the  question  seriously,  and  after 
much  cogitation  decided  to  leave  him,  for  the  present, 
in  ignorance.  First  of  all,  because  critics  like  to  con- 
sider themselves  the  wisest  men  in  the  word,  and  hate 
to  be  told  anything;  secondly,  because  I  rather  enjoyed 
the  fun.  The  publisher  of  'Nourhalma,'  a  very  excel- 
lent fellow,  sent  me  the  critique,  and  wrote  asking  me 
whether  it  was  true  that  the  author  of  the  poem  was 
really  dead,  and  if  not,  whether  he  should  contradict  the 
report.  I  waited  a  bit  before  answering  that  letter,  and 
while  I  waited,  two  more  critiques  appeared  in  two  of  the 
most  assertively  pompons  and  dictatorial  journals  of  the 
day,  echoing  the  eulogies  of  the  Parthenon,  declaring 
'this  dead  poet'  worthy  'to  rank  with  the  highest  oi 
the  immortals' — and  a  number  of  other  similar  grandiose 


442  "ARDATH" 

declarations.  One  reviewer  took  an  infinite  deal  of  pains 
to  prove  'that  if  the  genius  of  Theos  Alwyn  had  only 
been  spared  to  England  he  must  have  infallibly  been 
elected  poet-laureate  as  soon  as  the  post  became  vacant, 
and  that,  too,  without  a  single  dissentient  voice,  save 
such  as  were  raised  in  envy  or  malice.  But  being  dead,' 
continued  this  estimable  scribe,  'all  we  can  say  is  that 
he  yet  speaketh,  and  that  "Nourhalma"  is  a  poem  of 
which  the  literary  world  cannot  be  otherwise  than  justly 
proud.  Let  the  tears  that  we  shed  for  this  gifted  sing- 
er's untimely  decease  be  mingled  with  gratitude  for  the 
priceless  value  of  the  work  his  creative  genius  has  be- 
queathed to  us!'" 

Here  Villiers  paused,  his  blue  eyes  sparkling  with  in- 
ward amusement,  and  looked  at  Alwyn,  whose  face, 
though  perfectly  serene,  had  now  the  faintest,  softest 
shadow  of  a  grave  pathos  hovering  about  it. 

"By  this  time,"  he  continued,  "I  thought  we  had 
had  about  enough  sport,  so  I  wrote  off  to  the  publisher 
to  at  once  contradict  the  erroneous  rumor.  But  now 
that  publisher  had  his  story  to  tell.  He  called  upon 
me,  and  with  a  blandly  persuasive  air  said,  that  as 
'Nourhalma'  was  having  an  extraordinary  sale,  was  it 
worth  while  to  deny  the  statement  of  your  death  just 
yet?  He  was  very  anxious,  but  I  was  firm,  and  lest  he 
should  waver,  I  wrote  several  letters  myself  to  the  lead- 
ing journals,  to  establish  the  certainty,  so  far  as  I  was 
aware,  of  your  being  in  the  land  of  the  living.  And 
then,  what  do  you  think  happened?" 

Alwyn  met  his  bright,  satirical  glance  with  a  look  that 
was  half-questioning,  half  wistful,  but  said  nothing. 

"It  was  the  most  laughable  and  at  the  same  time  the 
most  beautifully  instructive  lesson  ever  taught  by  the 
whole  annals  of  journalism.  The  press  turned  round 
like  a  weathercock  with  the  wind,  and  exhausted  every 
epithet  of  abuse  they  could  find  in  the  dictionaries. 
'Nourhalma'  was  a  'poor,  ill-conceived  work;'  'an  out- 
rage to  intellectual  perception;'  'a  good  idea,  spoilt 
in  the  treatment;  an  amazingly  obscure  attempt  at  sub- 
Hmity,'  et  cetera.  But  there,  you  can  yourself  peruse 
all  the  criticisms,  both  favorable,  and  adverse,  for  I  have 
acted  the  part  of  the  fond  granny  to  you  in  the  careful 
cutting  out  and  pasting  of  everything  I  could  find  writ- 


ZABASTESISM   AND   PAULISM  443 

ten  concerning  you  and  your  work,  in  a  book  devoted 
to  the  purpose,  and  I  believe  I've  missed  nothing.  Mark 
you,  however,  the  Parthenon  never  reversed  its  judg- 
ment, nor  did  the  other  two  leading  journals  of  literary 
opinion;  it  wouldn't  do  for  such  big-wigs  to  confess 
they  had  blundered,  you  know,  and  the  vituperation  of 
the  smaller  fry  was  just  the  other  weight  in  the  balance 
which  made^the  thing  equal.  The  sale  of  'Nourhalma' 
grew  fast  and  furious.  All  expenses  were  cleared  three 
times  over,  and  at  the  present  moment  the  publisher  is 
getting  conscientiously  anxious  (for  some  publishers  are 
more  conscientious  than  some  authors  will  admit)  to 
hand  you  over  a  nice  little  check  for  an  amount  which 
is  not  to  be  despised  in  this  work-a-day  world,  I  assure 
you. " 

"I  did  not  write  for  money,"  interrupted  Alwyn  qui- 
etly. "Nor  shall  I  ever  do  so." 

"Of  course  not,"  assented  Villiers  promptly  "No 
poet,  and  indeed  no  author  whatsoever  who  lays  claim 
to  a  fraction  of  conscience,  writes  for  money  only.  Those 
with  -whom  money  is  the  first  consideration  debase  their 
art  into  a  coarse  huckstering  trade,  and  are  no  better 
than  contentious  bakers  and  cheese-mongers,  who  jostle 
each  other  in  a  vulgar  struggle  as  to  which  shall  sell 
perishable  goods  at  the  highest  profit.  None  of  the 
lasting  works  of  the  world  were  written  so.  Neverthe- 
less, if  the  public  voluntarily  choose  to  lavish  what  they 
can  of  their  best  on  the  author  who  imparts  to  them 
inspired  thoughts  and  noble  teachings,  then  that  author 
must  not  be  churlish,  or  slow  to  accept  the  gratitude 
implied.  I  think  the  most  appropriate  maxim  for  a  poet 
to  address  to  his  readers  is,  'Freely  ye  have  recehecl, 
freely  give.'" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Alwyn  resumed  his 
seat  in  the  chair  near  the  fire,  and  Villiers,  leaning  one 
arm  on  the  mantel-piece,  still  stood  looking  down  upon 
him. 

"Such,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  went  on  complacently,  "is 
the  history  of  the  success  of  'Nourhalma.'  It  certainly 
began  with  the  belief  that  you  were  no  longer  able  to 
benefit  by  the  eulogy  received,  but  all  the  same  that  eu- 
logy has  been  uttered  and  cannot  be  /^uttered.  It  lias 
led  all  the  lovers  of  the  highest  literature  to  get  the 


444  "ARDATH" 

book  for  themselves,  and  to  prove  your  actual  worth, 
independently  of  press  opinion,  and  the  result  is  an 
immense  and  steadily  widening  verdict  in  your  favor. 
Speaking  personally,  I  have  never  read  anything  that 
gave  me  quite  so  much  artistic  pleasure  as  this  poem  of 
yours  except  'Hyperion,'  only  'Hyperion'  is  distinctly 
classical,  while  'Nourhalma'  takes  us  back  into  some 
hitherto  unexplored  world  of  antique  paganism,  which, 
though  essentially  pagan,  is  wonderfully  full  of  pure 
and  lofty  sentiment.  When  did  the  idea  first  strike  you?" 

"A  long  time  ago,"  returned  Alwyn,  with  a  slight, 
serious  smile.  "I  assure  you  it  is  by  no  means  original!" 

Villiers  gave  him  a  quick,  surprised  glance. 

"No?  Well,  it  seems  to  me  singularly  original,"  he 
uaid.  "In  fact,  one  of  your  critics  says  you  are  too 
original.  Mind  you,  Alwyn,  that  is  a  very  serious  fault 
jn  this  imitative  age." 

Alwyn  laughed  a  little.  His  thoughts  were  very  busy. 
Again  in  imagination  he  beheld  the  burning  "temple  of 
Nagaya"  in  his  dream  of  Al-Kyris.  Again  he  saw  him- 
self carrying  the  corpse  of  his  former  self  through  fire 
and  flame,  and  again  he  heard  the  last  words  of  the  dy- 
ing Zabastes.  "I  was  the  poet's  adverse  critic,  and 
who  but  I  should  write  his  eulogy?  Save  me,  if  only 
for  the  sake  of  Sah-luma's  future  honor!  Thou  knowest 
not  how  warmly,  how  generously,  how  nobly,  I  can 
praise  the  dead!" 

True.  How  easy  to  praise  the  poor,  deaf,  stirless  clay 
when  sen^e  and  spirit  have  fled  from  it  forever!  No  fear 
to  spoil  a  corpse  by  flattery;  the  heavily  sealed-up  eyes 
can  never  more  unclose  to  lighten  with  glad  hope  or 
fond  ambition;  the  quiet  heart  cannot  leap  with  grati- 
tude or  joy  at  that  "word  spoken  in  due  season"  which 
aids  its  noblest  aspirations  to  become  realized.  The  dead 
poet!  Press  the  cold  clods  of  earth  over  him,  and  then 
rant  above  his  grave.  Tell  him  how  great  he  was,  what 
infinite  possibilities  were  displayed  in  his  work,  what 
excellence,  what  merit,  what  subtlety  tfl  •fe*u4(ht.  what 
grace  of  style!  Rant  and  rave;  print  rcwiza  qf  acclaim- 
ing verbosity;  pronounce  orations;  raise  up  statues; 
mark  the  house  he  lived  and  starved  in  with  a  laudatory 
medallion,  and  print  his  once  rejected  stanzas  in  every 
s,ort  of  type  and  fashion,  from  the  cheap  to  the  costly  ; 


ZABASTESISM   AND   PAtfLISM  44$ 

teach  the  multitude  how  worthy  he  was  to  be  loved  and 
honored,  and  never  fear  that  he  will  move  from  his  rigid 
and  chill  repose  to  be  happy  for  once  in  his  life,  and 
to  learn  with  amazement  that  the  world  he  toiled  so  pa- 
tiently for  is  actually  learning  to  be  grateful  for  his  ex- 
istence! Once  dead  and  buried,  he  can  be  safely  made 
glorious.  He  cannot  either  affront  us  with  his  superior 
intelligence  or  make  us  envy  the  splendors  of  his  fame. 

Some  such  thoughts  as  these  passed  through  Alwyn's 
mind  as  he  dreamily  gazed  into  the  red  hollows  of  the 
fire  and  reconsidered  all  that  his  friend  had  told  him. 
He  had  no  personal  acquaintances  on  the  press, no  literary 
club  or  clique  to  haul  him  up  into  the  topgallant  mast 
of  renown  by  persistent  puffery.  He  was  not  related, 
even  distantly,  to  any  great  personage,  either  states- 
man, professor,  or  divine;  he  had  not  the  mysterious 
recommendation  of  being  a  "university  man;"  none  of 
the  many  "wheels  within  wheels,"  which  are  nowadays 
so  frequently  set  in  motion  to  make  up  a  momentary 
literary  furore,  were  his  to  command;  and  yet  the  Par- 
thenon had  praised  him!  Wonder  of  wonders!  The 
Parthenon  was  a  singularly  obtuse  journal,  which  glanced 
at  the  whole  world  of  letters  merely  through  the  eyes 
of  three  or  four  men  of  distinctly  narrow  and  egotistical 
opinions,  and  these  three  or  four  men  kept  it  as  much 
as  possible  to  themselves,  using  its  columns  chiefly  for 
the  purpose  of  admiring  one  another.  As  a- consequence 
of  this  restricted  arrangement,  very  few  outsiders  could 
expect  to  be  noticed  for  their  work,  unless  they  were  in 
the  "set,"  or  at  least  had  occasionally  dined  with 'one 
of  the  mystic  three  or  four,  and  so  it  had  chanced  that 
Alwyn's  first  venture  into  literature  had  been  totally 
disregarded  by  the  Parthenon.  In  fact,  that  first  venture, 
being  a  small  and  unobtrusive  book,  had,  most  prob- 
ably, been  thrown  into  the  waste-paper  basket,  or  sold 
for  a  few  pence  to  the  second-hand  dealer.  And  now— 
novf  because  he  had  been  imagined  dead—  the  Parthe- 
non's leading  critic  had  singled  him  out  and  held  him 
for  univeisaj  admiration. 

WeJ*  well!  After  all,  "Nourhalma"  was  a  posthu- 
mous work.  //  had  been  written  before,  ages  since,  when 
he,  as  Sah-luma,  had  perished  ere  he  had  had  time  to 
give  it  to  the  world.  He  had  merely  remembered  it — 


446  "ARDATH" 

drawn  it  forth  again,  as  it  were,  from  the  dim,  deep  vis- 
tas of  past  deeds,  so  those  who  had  reviewed  it  as  the 
production  of  one  dead  in  youth  were  right  in  their 
judgment,  though  they  did  not  know  it.  It  was  old, noth- 
ing but  repetition;  but  now  he  had  something  new  and  true 
and  passionate  to  say — something  that,  if  God  pleased, 
it  should  be  his  to  utter  with  the  clearness  and  forcible- 
ness  common  to  the  Greek  thunderers  of  yore,  who  spoke 
out  what  was  in  them,  grandly,  simply,  and  with  the 
fearless  majesty  of  thought  that  recked  nothing  of  opin- 
ions. Oh!  he  would  rouse  the  hearts  of  men  from  paltry 
greed  and  covetousness,  from  lust  and  hatred  and  all 
things  evil!  No  matter  if  he  lost  his  own  life  in  the 
effort,  he  would  still  do  his  utmost  best  to  lift,  if  only 
in  a  small  degree,  the  deepening  weight  of  self-wrought 
agony  from  self-blinded  mankind.  Yes!  he  must  work 
to  fulfill  the  commands  and  deserve  the  blessing  of 
Edris! 

Edris!  ah,  the  memory  of  her  pure  angel-loveliness 
rushed  upon  him  like  a  flood  of  invigorating  warmth 
and  light,  and  when  he  looked  up  from  his  brief  reverie, 
his  countenance,  beautiful  and  kindling  with  inward 
ardor,  affected  Villiers  strangely,  almost  as  a  very  grand 
and  perfect  strain  of  music  might  affect  and  unsteady 
one's  nerves.  The  attraction  he  had  always  felt  for  his 
poet  friend  deepened  to  quite  a  fervent  intensity  of  admi- 
ration, but  he  ,was  not  the  man  to  betray  his  feelings 
outwardly,  and  to  shake  off  his  emotion  he  rushed  into 
speech  again. 

"By  the  bye,  Alwyn,  your  old  acquaintance,  Professor 
Moxall,  is  very  much  'down'  on  your  book.  You  know 
he  doesn't  write  reviews,  except  on  matters  connected 
with  evolutionary  phenomena,  but  I  met  him  the  other 
day,  and  he  was  quite  upset  about  you.  'Too  transcen- 
dental!' he  said,  dismally  shaking  his  bald  pate  to  and 
fro.  'The  whole  poem  is  a  vaporous  tissue  of  absurd 
impossibilities!  Ah  dear,  dear  me!  what  a  terrible  fall- 
ing-off  in  a  young  man  of  such  hopeful  ability!  I  thought 
he  had  done  with  poetry  forever.  I  took  the  greatest 
pains  to  prove  to  him  what  a  ridiculous  pastime  it  was, 
and  how  unworthy  to  be  considered  for  a  moment  serious- 
ly as  an  art,  and  he  seemed  to  understand  my  reasoning 
thoroughly.  Indeed,  he  promised  to  be  one  of  our  most 


ZABASTESlaM  AND   PAUL1SM  447 

oowerful  adherents;  he  had  an  excellent  grasp  of  the 
material  sciences,  and  a  fine  contempt  for  religion.  Why, 
with  such  a  quick,  analytical  brain  as  his,  he  might  have 
carried  on  Darwin's  researches  to  an  extremer  point  of 
the  origination  of  species  than  has  yet  been  reached! 
All  a  ruin,  sir!  a  positive  ruin!  A  man  who  will  in  cold 
blood  write  such  lines  as  these — 

"  'Grander  is  death  than  life,  and  sweeter  far 
The  splendor  of  the  infinite  future,  than  our  eyes, 
Weary  with  tearful  watching,  yet  can  see" — 

condemns  himself  as  a  positive  lunatic!  And  young 
Alwyn,  too!  He  who  had  so  completely  recognized  the 
foolishness  and  futility  of  expecting  any  other  life  than 
this  one!  Good  heavens!  "Nourhalma, "  as  I  under- 
stand it,  is  a  sort  of  pagan  poem;  but  with  such  incred- 
ible ideas  and  sentiments  as  are  expressed  in  it,  the 
author  might  as  well  go  and  be  a  Christian  at  once!' 
And  with  that  he  hobbled  off,  for  it  was  Sunday  after- 
noon, and  he  was  on  his  way  to  St.  George's  Hall  to 
delight  the  assembled  skeptics,  by  telling  them  in  an 
elaborate  lecture  what  absurd  animalculae  they  all  were." 

Alwyn  smiled,  There  was  a  soft  light  in  his  eyes,  an 
expression  of  serene  contentment  on  his  face. 

"Poor  old  Moxall!"  he  said  gently.  "I  am  sorry  for 
him!  He  makes  life  very  desolate,  both  for  himself 
and  others  who  accept  his  theories.  I'm  afraid  his  dis- 
appointment in  me  will  have  to  continue,  for,  as  it  hap- 
pens, I  am  a  Christian — that  is,  so  far  as  I  can,  in  my 
unworthiness,  be  a  follower  of  a  faith  so  grand,  and 
pure,  and  true!" 

Villiers  started.  His  mouth  opened  in  sheer  astonish- 
ment; he  could  scarcely  believe  his  own  ears,  and  he 
uttered  some  sound  between  a  gasp  and  an  exclamation 
of  incredulity.  Alwyn  met  his  widely-wondering  gaze 
with  a  most  sweet  and  unembarrassed  calm. 

"How  amazed  you  look,"  he  observed  half  playfully. 
"Religion  must  be  at  a  very  low  ebb,  if  in  a  so-called 
Christian  country  you  are  surprised  to  hear  a  man  openly 
acknowledge  himself  a  disciple  of  the  Christian  creed." 

There"  was  a  brief  pause,  during  which  the  chimin^ 
clock  rang  out  the  hour  musically  on  the  stillness.  Then 
Viih'ers,  still  in  a  state  of  most  profound  bewilderment. 


4.48  "ARDATH" 

sat  down  deliberately  in  a  chair   opposite    Ahvyn's,  and 
placed  one  hand  familiarly  on  his  knee. 

"Look  here,  old  fellow,"  he  said  impressively,  "do 
you  really  mean  it?  Are  you  'going  over'  to  some  church 
or  other?" 

Alwyn  laughed.      His  friend's  anxiety  was  so  genuine. 

"Not  I!"  he  responded  promptly.  "Don't  be  alarmed, 
Villiers;  I  am  not  a  'convert*  to  any  particular  set  form 
of  faith.  What  I  care  for  is  the  faith  itself.  One  can 
follow  and  serve  Christ  without  any  church-dogma.  He 
has  himself  told  us  plainly,  in  words  'simple  enough  for 
a  child  to  understand,  what  he  would  have  us  do,  and 
though  I,  like  many  others,  must  regret  the  absence  of 
a  true  universal  church  where  the  servants  of  Christ 
may  meet  all  together  without  a  shadow  of  difference  in 
opinion,  and  worship  him  as  he  should  be  worshiped, 
still  that  is  no  reason  why  I  should  refrain  from  endeav- 
oring to  fulfill,  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  my  personal  duty 
toward  him.  The  fact  is,  Christianity  has  never  yet  been 
rightly  taught,  grasped,  or  comprehended.  Moreover, 
as  long  as  men  seek  through  it  their  own  worldly  ad- 
vantage, it  never  will  be,  so  that  the  majority  of  peo- 
ople  are  really  as  yet  ignorant  of  its  true  spiritual  mean- 
ing, thanks  to  the  quarrels  and  differences  of  sects  and 
preachers.  But  notwithstanding  the  unhappy  position 
of  religion  at  the  present  day,  I  repeat,  I  am  a  Chris- 
tian, if  love  for  Christ,  and  implicit  belief  in  him,  can 
make  me  so." 

He  spoke  simply,  and  without  the  slightest  affectation 
of  reserve.  Villiers  was  still  puzzled. 

"1  thought,  Alwyn,"  he  ventured  to  say  presently, with 
some  little  diffidence,  "that  you  entirely  rejected  the 
idea  of  Christ's  divinity  as  a  mere  superstition?" 

"In  dense  ignorance  of  the  extent  of  God's  possibil- 
ities, I  certainly  did  so,"  returned  Alwyn  quietly.  "But 
I  have  had  good  reason  to  see  that  my  own  inability  to 
comprehend  supernatural  causes  was  entirely  to  blame 
for  that  rejection.  Are  we  able  to  explain  all  the  numer- 
ous and  complex  variations  and  manifestations  of  mat- 
ter? No.  Then  why  do  we  dare  to  doubt  the  certainly 
conceivable  variations  and  manifestations  of  spirit?  The 
doctrine  of  a  purely  kuman  Christ  is  untenable.  A  creed 
founded  on  that  idea  alone,  would  make  no  way  with 


SABASTE.HSM  AND  PAULISM  449 

the  immortal  aspirations  of  the  soul.  What  link  could 
there  be  between  a  mere  man  like  ourselves  and  heaven? 
None  whatever;  it  needs  the  DIVINE  in  Christ  to  over- 
leap the  darkness  of  the  grave,  to  serve  us  as  the  sym- 
bol of  certain  resurrection;  to  teach  us  that  this  life  is 
not  the  ALL  but  only  one  loop  in  the  chain  of  existences — 
only  one  of  the  'many  mansions'  in  the  Father's  House. 
Human  teachers  of  high  morals  there  have  always  been 
in  the  world — Confucius,  Buddha,  Zoroaster,  Socrates, 
Plato — there  is  no  end  to  them,  and  their  teachings  have 
been  valuable  so  far  as  they  went,  but  even  Plato's  ma- 
jestic arguments  in  favor  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul 
fall  short  of  anything  sure  and  graspable.  They  were 
so  many  prefigurements  of  what  was  to  come,  just  as 
the  sign  of  the  cross  was  used  in  the  temple  of  Serapis, 
and  was  held  in  singular  mystic  veneration  by  various 
tribes,  of  Egyptians,  Arabians,  and  Indians,  ages  before 
Christ  came.  And  now  that  these  pffefigurements  have 
resolved  themselves  into  an  actual  divine  symbol,  the 
doubting  world  still  hesitates,  and  by  this  hesitation  par- 
alyzes both  its  will  and  instinct,  so  that  it  fails  to  cut 
out  the  core  of  Christianity's  true  solution,  or  to  learn 
what  Christ  really  meant  when  he  said :  'I  am  the 
Way,  the  Truth,  and  the  Life ;  no  man  cometh  to  the 
Father  but  by  me.'  Have  you  ever  considered  the  par- 
ticular weight  of  that  word  'man'  in  that  text?  It  is 
rightly  specified  that  'no  man  cometh,'  for  there  are 
hosts  of  other  beings,  in  other  universes,  who  are  not  of 
our  puny  race,  and  who  do  not  need  to  be  taught  either 
the  way,  truth,  or  life,  as  they  know  all  three,  and  have 
never  lost  their  knowledge  from  the  beginning." 

His  voice  quivered  a  little,  and  he  paused.  Villiers 
watched  him  with  a  strange  sense  of  ever-deepening  fas- 
cination and  wonder. 

"I  have  lately  studied  the  whole  thing  carefully,"  he 
resumed  presently,  "and  I  see  no  reason  why  we,  who 
call  ourselves  a  progressive  generation,  should  revert 
back  to  the  old  theory  of  Cerinthus,  who,  as  early  as 
sixty-seven  years  after  Christ,  denied  his  divinity.  There 
is  nothing  new  in  the  hypothesis;  it  is  no  more  original 
than  the  doctrine  of  evolution,  which  was  skillfully  enor.gh 
handled  by  Democritus,  and  probably  by  many  another 
before  him,  Voltaire  certainly  threshed  out  the  subject 


450  "ARDATH" 

exhaustively,  and  I  think  Carlyle's  address  to  him  on 
the  uselessness  of  his  work  is  one  of  the  finest  of  its 
kind.  Do  you  remember  it?" 

Villiers  shook  his  head  in  the  negative,  whereupon 
Alwyn  rose,  and,  glancing  along  an  evidently  well-remem- 
bered book-shelf,  took  from  thence  "Sartor  Resartus" 
and  turned  over  the  pages  quickly. 

"Here  it  is,"  and  he  read  out  the  following  passage: 
"'Cease,  my  much-respected  Herr  von  Voltaire,  shut  thy 
sweet  voice;  for  the  task  appointed  thee  seems  finished. 
Sufficiently  hast  thou  demonstrated  this  proposition,  con 
siderable  or  otherwise:  That  the  my  thus  of  the  Chris- 
tian religion  looks  not  in  the  eighteenth  century  as  it  did 
in  the  eighth.  Alas,  were  thy  six-and-thirty  quartos,  and 
the  six-and-thirty  thousand  other  quartos  and  folios  and 
flying  sheets  or  reams,  printed  before  and  since  on  the 
same  subject,  all  needed  to  convince  us  of  so  little?  But 
what  next?  Wilt  thou  help  us  to  embody  the  divine 
spirit  of  that  religion  in  a  new  mythus,  in  a  new  vehicle 
and  vesture,  that  our  souls,  otherwise  too  like  perishing, 
may  live?  What!  thou  hast  no  faculty  in  that  kind? 
Only  a  torch  for  burning  and  no  hammer  for  building? 
Take  our  thanks  then — and  thyself  away!" 

Villiers  smiled,  and  straightened  himself  in  military 
fashion,  as  was  his  habit  when  particularly  gratified. 

"Excellent  old  Teufelsdrockh!"  he  murmured  sotto 
voce.  "He  had  a  rugged  method  of  explaining  himself, 
but  it  was  decisive  enough  in  all  conscience." 

"Decisive  and  to  the  point,"  assented  Alwyn,  putting 
the  book  back  in  its  place,  and  then  confronting  his 
friend.  "And  he  states  precisely  what  is  wanted  by  the 
world  to-day,  wanted  pressingly,  eagerly — namely,  that 
the  'divine  spirit'  of  the  Christian  religion  should  be 
set  forth  in  a  'new  vehicle  and  vesture'  to  keep  pace 
with  the  advancing  inquiry  and  scientific  research  of 
man.  And  truly  for  this,  it  need  only  be  expounded  ac- 
cording to  its  old,  pure,  primal,  spiritual  intention,  and 
then  the  more  science  progresses  the  more  true  will  it 
be  proved.  Christ  distinctly  claimed  his  divinity,  and 
everywhere  gave  manifestations  of  it.  Of  course  it  can 
be  said  that  these  manifestations  rest  on  testimony,  and 
that  the  'testimony*  was  drawn  up  afterward  and  is  a 
spurious  invention;  but  we  have  no  more  proof  that  it 


ZABASTESISM  AND  PAULISM  451 

is  spurious  than  we  have  of*  Homer's  Iliad  being  a  com- 
pilation of  several  writers  and  not  the  work  of  a  Homer 
at  all.  Nothing,  not  even  the  events  of  the  past  week, 
can  be  safely  rested  on  absolute,  undiffering  testimony, 
inasmuch  as  no  two  narrators  tell  the  same  story  alike. 
But  all  the  same  we  have  the  Iliad ;  it  cannot  be  taken 
from  us  by  any  amount  of  argument,  and  we  have  the 
fruits  of  Christ's  gospel,  half -obscured  as  it  is,  visible 
among  us.  Everywhere,  civilization  of  a  high  and  aspir- 
ing order  has  followed  Christianity,  even  at  the  cost  of 
blood  and  tears — slavery  has  been  abolished,  and  women 
lifted  from  unspeakable  degradation  to  honor  and  rev- 
erence, and  had  men  been  more  reasonable  and  self-con- 
trolled, the  purifying  work  would  have  been  done  peace- 
fully and  without  persecution.  It  was  St.  Paul's  preach- 
ing that  upset  all  the  beautiful,  pristine  simplicity  of 
the  faith  \  it  is  very  evident  he  had  no  'calling  or  elec- 
tion' such  as  he  pretended.  I  wonder  Jeremy  Ben- 
tham's  conclusive  book  on  the  subject  is  not  more  univer- 
sally known.  Paul's  sermonizing  gave  rise  to  a  thousand 
different  shades  of  opinion  and  argument,  and,  for  a 
mere  hair's -breadth  of  needless  discussion,  nation  has 
fought  against  nation,  and  man  against  man,  till  the  very 
name  of  religion  has  been  made  a  ghastly  mockery.  That, 
however,  is  not  the  fault  of  Christianity,  but  the  fault 
of  those  who  profess  to  follow  it,  like  Paul,  while  merely 
following  a  scheme  of  their  own  personal  advantage  or 
convenience;  and  the  result  of  it  all  is  that  at  this  very 
moment  there  is  not  a  church  in  Christendom  where 
Christ's  actual  commands  are  really  and  to  the  letter 
fulfilled." 

"Strong!"  ejaculated  Villiers  with  a  slight  smile. 
"Mustn't  say  that  before  a  clergyman!" 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Alwyn.  "Why  should  not 
clerics  be  told  once  and  for  all  how  ill  they  perform 
their  sacred  mission?  Look  at  the  wilderness  of  spread- 
ing atheism  to-day,  and  look  at  the  multitudes  of  men 
and  women  who  are  hungering  and  thirsting  for  a  greater 
comprehension  of  spiritual  things  than  they  have  hither- 
to had!  And  yet  the  preachers  trudge  drowsily  on  in 
the  old  ruts  they  have  made  for  themselves,  and  give 
neither  sympathy  nor  heed  to  the  increasing  pain,  fever- 

*See  Chapter  III.,  "In  Al-Kyris"— the  allusion  to  "Oruzil." 


452  '  "ARDATM" 

ish  bewilderment,  and  positive  want  of  those  they  pro 
fess  to  guide.  Concerning  science,  too:  what  is  the 
good  of  telling  a  toiling,  more  or  less  suffering  race  that 
there  are  eighteen  millions  of  suns  in  the  Milky  Way, 
and  that,  viewed  by  the  immensity  of  the  universe,  man 
is  nothing  but  a  small,  mean,  and  perishable  insect? 
Humanity  hears  the  statement  with  dull,  perplexed  brain, 
and  its  weight  of  sorrow  is  doubled.  It  demands  at 
once,  why,  if  an  insect,  its  insect-life  should  BE  at  all, 
if  nothing  is  to  come  of  it  but  weariness  and  woe?  The 
marvels  of  scientific  discovery  offer  no  solace  to  the 
huge  majority  of  the  afflicted,  unless  we  point  the  lesson 
that  the  soul  of  man  is  destined  to  live  through  more 
than  these  wonders,  and  that  the  millions  of  planetary 
systems  in  the  Milky  Way  are  but  the  ALPHA  BETA  of  the 
sublime  hereafter  which  is  our  natural  heritage  if  we 
will  but  set  ourselves  earnestly  to  win  it.  Moreover,  we 
should  not  foolishly  imagine  that  we  are  to  lead  good 
lives  merely  for  the  sake  of  some  suggested  reward  or 
wages.  No,  but  simply  because  in  practicing  progres- 
sive good  we  are  equalizing  ourselves  and  placing  our- 
selves in  active  working  harmony  with  the  whole  pro- 
gressive good  of  the  Creator's  plan.  We  have  no  more 
right  to  do  a  deliberately  evil  thing  than  a  musician  has 
right  to  spoil  a  melody  by  a  false  note  on  his  instru- 
ment. Why  should  we  willfully  jar  God's  music,  of 
which  we  are  a  part?  I  tell  you,  that  religion  as  taught 
to-day  is  rather  one  of  custom  and  fear  than  love  and 
confidence ;  men  cower  and  propitiate  when  they  should 
be  full  of  thankfulness  and  praise  ;  and  as  for  any  reserve 
on  these  matters,  I  have  none;  in  fact,  I  fail  to  see  why 
truth — spiritual  truth — should  not  be  openly  proclaimed 
now,  even  as  it  is  sure  to  be  proclaimed  hereafter." 

His  manner  had  warmed  with  his  words,  and  he  lifted 
his  head  with  an  involuntary  gesture  of  eloquent  resolve, 
his  eyes  flashing  splendid  scorn  for  all  things  hypocrit- 
ical and  mean  Villiers  looked  at  him,  feeling  curi- 
ously moved  and  impressed  by  his  fervent  earnestness. 

"Well,  I  was  right  in  one  thing,  at  any  rate,  Alwyn," 
he  said  softly.  "You  are  changed — there's  not  a  doubt 
about  it.  But  it  seems  to  me  the  change  is  distinctly 
for  the  better.  It  does  my  heart  good  to  hear  you  speak 
with  such  distinct  and  manly  emphasis  on  a  subject 


2ABASTESISM  AND  PAULISM  453 

which,  though  it  is  one  of  the  burning  questions  of  the 
day,  is  too  often  treated  irreverently,  or  altogether  dis- 
missed with  a  few  sentences  of  languid  banter  or  cheap 
sarcasm.  As  regards  myself  personally,  I  must  say  that 
a  man  without  faith  in  an}rthing  but  himself  has  always 
seemed  to  me  exactly  in  keeping  with  the  description 
given  of  an  atheist  by  Lady  Ashburton  to  Carlyle, 
namely,  'a  person  who  robs  himself  not  only  of  clothes, 
but  of  flesh  as  well,  and  walks  about  the  world  in  his 
bones.'  And  oddly  enough,  in  spite  of  all  the  contro- 
versies going  on  about  Christianity,  I  have  always  really 
worshiped  Christ  in  my  heart  of  hearts,  and  yet — I  can't 
go  to  church!  I  seem  to  lose  the  idea  of  him  alto- 
gether there;  but" — and  his  frank  face  took  upon  itself 
a  dreamy  light  of  deep  feeling — "there  are  times  when, 
walking  alone  in  the  fields,  or  through  a  very  quiet  grove 
of  trees,  or  on  the  sea  shore,  I  begin  to  think  of  his 
majestic  life  and  death,  and  the  immense,  unfailing  sym- 
pathy he  showed  for  every  sort  of  human  suffering,  and 
then  I  can  really  believe  in  him  as  divine  friend,  com- 
rade, teacher,  and  king,  and  I  am  scarcely  able  to  de- 
cide which  is  the  deepest  emotion  in  my  mind  toward 
him — love  or  reverence." 

He  paused.  Alwyn's  eyes  rested  upon  him  with  a 
quick,  comprehensive  friendliness.  In  one  exchange  of 
looks  the  two  men  became  mutually  aware  of  the  strong 
undercurrents  of  thought  that  lay  beneath  each  other's 
individual  surface  history,  which  perhaps  had  never  been 
so  clearly  recognized  before,  and  a  kind  of  swift,  speech- 
less, satisfactory  agreement  between  their  two  separate 
natures  seemed  suddenly  drawn  up,  ratified  and  sealed 
in  a  glance. 

"I  have  often  thought,"  continued  Villiers  more 
lightly,  and  smiling  as  he  spoke,  "that  we  are  all  angels 
or  devils — angels  in  our  best  moments,  devils  in  our 
worst.  If  we  could  only  keep  the  best  moments  always 
uppermost!  'Ah,  poor  deluded  human  nature!'  as  old 
Moxall  says,  while  in  the  same  breath  he  contradicts 
himself  by  asserting  that  human  reason  is  the  only  in- 
fallible means  of  ascertaining  anything!  How  it  can  be 
'deluded'  and  'infallible'  at  the  same  time,  I  can't  quite 
understand!  But,  Alwyn,  you  haven't  told  me  how  you 
like  the  'get-up'  of  your  book." 


d.54  "ARDATH" 

And  he  handed  the  volume  in  question  to  its  author, 
who  turned  it  over  with  the  most  curious  air  of  care- 
less recognition.  In  his  fancy  he  again  saw  Zabastes 
writing  each  line  of  it  down  to  Sah-luma's  dictation! 

"It's  very  well  printed,"  he  sarid  at  last,  "and  very 
tastefully  bound.  You  have  superintended  ihe  work  con 
amoret  Villiers,  and  I  am  as  obliged  to  you  as  friend- 
ship will  let  me  be.  You  know  what  that  means?" 

"It  means  no  obligation  at  all,"  declared  Villiers 
gayly,  "because  friends  who  are  in  the  least  worthy  the 
name  take  delight  in  furthering  each  other's  interests, 
and  have  no  need  to  be  thanked  for  doing  what  is  par- 
ticularly agreeable  to  them.  You  really  like  the  appear- 
ance of  it,  then?  But  you've  got  the  sixth  edition. 
This  is  the  first." 

And  he  took  up  from  a  side-table  a  quaint,  small  quarto, 
bound  in  a  very  superb  imitation  of  old  embossed  leather, 
which  Alwyn  beholding  was  at  once  struck  by  the  re- 
semblance it  bore  to  the  elaborate  designs  that  had 
adorned  the  covers  of  the  papyrus  volumes  possessed 
by  his  shadow-self,  Sah-luma! 

"This  is  very  sumptuous!"  he  said  with  a  dreamy 
smile.  "It  looks  quite  antique." 

"Doesn't  it?"  exclaimed  Villiers,  delighted.  "I  had 
it  copied  from  a  first  edition  of  Petrarca  which  happens 
to  be  in  my  collection.  This  specimen  of  'Nourhalma' 
has  become  valuable  and  unique.  It  was  published  at 
ten -and  six,  and  can't  be  got  anywhere  under  five  or  six 
guineas,  if  for  that.  Of  course,  a  copy  of  each  edition 
has  been  set  aside  for  you. " 

Alwyn  laid    down  the  book  with  a  gentle  indifference. 

"My  dear  fellow,  I've  had  enough  of  'Nourhalma,'" 
he  said.  "I'll  keep  a  copy  of  the  first  edition,  if  only 
as  a  souvenir  of  your  good  will  and  energy  in  bringing 
it  out  so  admirably,  but  for  the  rest — the  book  belongs 
to  me  no  more,  but  to  the  public,  and  so  let  the  public 
do  with  it  what  they  will  1" 

Villiers  raised  his  eyebrows  perplexedly. 

"I  believe  after  all,  Alwyn,  you  don't  really  care  for 
your  fame." 

"Not  in  the  least,"  replied  Alwyn,  laughing.  "Why 
should  I?" 

"You  longed  for  it  once  as  the  utmost  good." 


ZABASTESISM   AND   PAULISM  455 

"True;  but  there  are  other  utmost  goods,  my  friend, 
that  1  desire  more  keenly." 

"But  are  they  attainable?"  queried  Villiers.  "Men, 
and  especially  poets,  often  hanker  after  what  is  not  pos- 
sible to  secure." 

"Granted,"  responded  Ahvyn  cheerfully.  "But  I  do 
not  crave  for  the  impossible.  I  only  seek  to  recover  what 
I  have  lost." 

"And  that  :s?" 

"What  most  men  have  lost,  or  are  insanely  doing 
their  best  to  lose,"  said  Alwyn  meditatively — "a  grasp 
of  things  eternal  through  the  veil  of  things  temporal." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  during  which  Villiers  eyed 
his  friend  wistfully. 

"What  was  that  'adventure'  you  spoke  about  in  your 
letter  from  the  monastery  on  the  Pass  of  Dariel?"  he 
asked  after  a  while.  "You  said  you  were  on  the  search 
for  a  new  sensation.  Did  you  experience  it?" 

Alwyn  smiled.    "1  certainly  did!" 

"Did  it  arise  from  a  contemplation  of  the  site  of  the 
ruins  of  Babylon?" 

"Not  exactly.  Babylon,  or  rather  the  earth-mounds 
which  are  now  called  Babylon,  had  very  little  to  do  with 
it." 

"Don't  you  want  to  tell  me  about  it?"  demanded  Vil- 
liers abruptly. 

"Not  just  yet,"  answered  Alwyn  with  good-humored 
frankness,  "not  to-night,  at  any  rate.  But  I  will  tell 
you,  never  fear.  For  the  present  we've  talked  enough. 
Don't  you  think  bed  suggests  itself  as  a  fitting  conclusion 
to  our  converse?" 

Villiers  laughed  and  acquiesced,  and  after  pressing  his 
friend  to  partake  of  something  in  the  way  of  supper, 
which  refreshment  was  declined,  he  preceded  him  to  a 
small,  pleasantly  cozy  room,  his  "guest  chamber,"  as  he 
called  it,  but  which  was  really  almost  exclusively  set 
apart  for  Alwyn's  use  alone,  and  was  always  in  readiness 
lor  him  whenever  he  chose  to  occupy  it.  Turning  on 
the  pretty  electric  lamp,  that  lit  the  whole  apartment 
with  a  soft  and  shaded  luster,  Villiers  shook  hands  heart- 
ily with  his  old  school  fellow  and  favorite  comrade,  and 
bidding  him  a  brief  but  cordial  good-night,  left  him  to 
repose. 


456  "ARDATH 

As  soon  as  he  was  alone,  Alwyn  took  out  from  his 
breast-pocket  a  small  velvet  letter-case,  from  which  he 
gently  drew  forth  a  slightly  pressed  but  unfaded  white 
flower.  Setting  this  in  a  glass  of  water,  he  placed  it 
near  his  bed,  and  watched  it  for  a  moment.  Delicately 
and  gradually  its  pressed  petals  expanded,  its  golden 
corolla  brightened  in  hue,  a  subtle,  sweet  odor  perme- 
ated the  air,  and  soon  the  angelic  "immortelle"  of  tne 
field  of  "Ardath"  shone  wondrously  as  a  white  star  in 
the  quiet  room.  And  when  the  lamp  was  extinguished 
and  the  poet  slept,  that  strange,  fair  blossom  seemed  to 
watch  him  like  a  soft,  luminous  eye  in  the  darkness — a 
symbol  of  things  divine  and  lasting,  a  token  of  far  and 
brilliant  worlds  where  even  flowers  cannot  fadel 


CHAPTER  III. 

REALISM. 

AT  the  end  of  about  a  week  or  so,  it  became  very  gen- 
erally known  among  the  mystic  "upper  ten"  of  artistic 
and  literary  circles  that  Theos  Alwyn,  the  famous  author 
of  "Nourhalma,"  was,  to  put  it  fashionably,  "in  town." 
According  to  the  classic  phrasing  of  a  leading  society 
journal,  "Mr.  Theos  Alwyn,  the  poet,  whom  some  of  our 
contemporaries  erroneously  reported  as  dead,  has  arrived 
in  London  from  his  tour  in  the  East.  He  is  for  thf 
present  a  guest  of  the  Honorable  Francis  Villiers. "  The 
consequence  of  this  and  other  similar  announcements  was 
that  the  postman  seemed  never  to  be  away  from  Villiers' 
door,  and  every  time  he  came  he  was  laden  with  letters 
and  cards  of  invitation  addressed  for  the  most  part  to 
Villiers  himself,  who,  with  something  of  dismay,  saw 
his  study  table  getting  gradually  covered  with  accumu- 
lating piles  of  society-litter,  such  as  is  comprised  in  the 
various  formal  notifications  of  dinners,  dances,  balls, 
soirees,  "at  homes,"  and  all  the  divers  sorts  of  entertain- 
ment with  which  the  English  "s'amusent  moult  triste- 
ment."  Some  of  these  invitations,  less  ceremonious, 
were  in  the  form  of  pretty  little  notes  from  great  ladies, 


REALISM  457 

who  entreated  their  "dear  Mr.  Villiers"  to  give  them  the 
"extreme  honor  and  pleasure"  ot  his  company  at  cer- 
tain select  and  extra  brilliant  receptions,  where  royalty 
itself  would  be  represented,  adding  as  an  earnest  post- 
script, "and  do  bring  the  lion  you  know,  your  very  in- 
teresting friend,  Mr.  Alwyn,  with  you!"  A  good  many 
such  billets-doux  were  addressed  to  Alwyn  personally, 
and  as  he  opened  and  read  them  he  was  somewhat 
amused  to  see  how  many  who  had  formerly  been  mere 
bowing  acquaintances  were  now  suddenly,  almost  mag- 
ically, transformed  into  apparently  eager,  admiring,  and 
devoted  friends. 

"One  would  think  these  people  really  liked  me  for 
myself,"  he  said  one  morning,  tossing  aside  a  particu- 
larly gushing,  pressing  note  from  a  lady  who  was  cele- 
brated for  the  motlej'  crowds  she  managed  to  squeeze 
into  her  rooms,  regardless  of  any  one's  comfort  or  con- 
venience. "And  yet,  as  the  matter  stands,  they  ac- 
tually know  nothing  of  me.  I  might  be  a  villain  of  the 
deepest  dye,  a  kickable  cad,  or  a  coarse  ruffian,  but  so 
long  as  I  have  written  a  'successful'  book  and  am  a 
'somebody' — a  literary  'notable' — what  matter  my  tastes 
my  morals,  or  my  disposition?  If  this  sort  of  thing  is 
fame,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  it  savors  of  very  detestable 
vulgarity!" 

"Of  course  it  does!"  assented  Villiers  ;  "but  what  else 
do  you  expect  from  modern  society?  What  can  you  ex- 
pect from  a  community  which  is  chiefly  ruled  by  moneyed 
parvenus,  but  vulgarity?  If  you  go  to  this  woman's 
place,  for  instance"- — and  he  glanced  at  the  note  Alwyn 
had  thrown  on  the  table — "you  will  share  the  honors  of 
the  evening  with  the  famous  man-milliner  of  Bond  Street, 
an  'artist*  in  gowns  ;  the  female  upholsterer  and  house- 
decorator,  likewise  an  'artist;'  the  ladies  who  'compose' 
bonnets  in  Regent  Street,  also  'artists;'  and  chiefest 
among  the  motley  crowd,  perhaps,  the  so-called  new 
'apostle'  of  aestheticism,  a  ponderous  gentleman  who 
says  nothing  and  does  nothing,  and  who,  by  reason  of 
his  stupendous  inertia  and  taciturnity,  is  considered  the 
greatest  'gun*  of  all !  It's  no  use  your  going  among 
such  people.  In  fact,  no  one  who  has  any  reverence 
left  in  him  for  the  truth  of  art  can  mix  with  those  whose 
profession  of  it  is  a  mere  trade  and  hypocritical  sham. 


"ARDATH* 

Such  dunderheads  would  see  no  artistic  difference  be- 
tween Phidias  and  the  man  of  to-day  who  hews  out 
and  sets  up  a  common  marble  mantelpiece!  I'm  not  a 
fellow  to  moan  over  the  'good  old  times;'  no,  not  a  bit 
of  it,  for  those  good  old  times  had  much  in  them  thai 
was  decidedly  bad,  but  I  wish  progress  would  not  rob 
us  altogether  of  refinement." 

"But  society  professes  to  be  growing  more  and  more 
cultured  every  day, "  observed  Alwyn. 

"Oh,  it  professes!  yes,  that's  just  the  mischief  of  it. 
Its  professions  are  not  worth  a  groat.  It  professes  to 
be  one  thing,  while  anybody  with  eyes  can  see  that  it 
actually  is  another.  The  old  style  of  aristocrat  and 
gentleman  is  dying  out ;  the  new  style  is  the  horsey 
lord,  the  betting  duke,  the  coal-dealing  earl,  the  stock- 
broking  viscounts!  Trade  is  a  very  excellent  thing,  a  very 
necessary  and  important  thing,  but  its  influence  is  dis- 
tinctly not  refining.  I  have  the  greatest  respect  for  my 
cheesemonger,  for  instance  (and  he  has  an  equal  respect 
for  me  since  he  has  found  that  I  know  the  difference 
between  real  butter  and  butterine),  but  all  the  same  I 
don't  want  to  see  him  in  Parliament.  I  am  arrogant 
enough  to  believe  that  I,  even  I,  having  studied  some- 
what, know  more  about  the  country's  interest  than  he 
does.  I  view  it  by  the  light  of  ancient  and  modern 
historical  evidence  ;  he  views  it  according  to  the  demand 
it  makes  on  his  cheese.  We  may  both  be  narrow  and 
limited  in  judgment.  Nevertheless  I  think,  with  all  due 
modesty,  that  his  judgment  is  likely  to  be  more  limited 
than  mine.  But  it's  no  good  talking  about  it.  This 
dear  old  land  is  given  up  to  a  sort  of  ignorant  democ- 
racy, which  only  needs  time  to  become  anarchy  j  and  we 
haven't  got  a  strong  man  among  us  who  dares  speak  out 
the  truth  of  the  inevitable  disasters  looming  above  us  all. 
And  society  is  not  only  vulgar  but  demoralized.  More- 
over, what  is  worse  is  that,  aided  by  its  preachers  and 
teachers,  it  is  sinking  into  deeper  depths  of  demoraliza- 
tion with  every  passing  month  and  year  of  time." 

Alwyn  leaned  back  in  his  chair  thoughtfully,  a  sor- 
rowful expression  clouding  his  face. 

"Surely  things  are  not  so  bad  as  they  seem,  Villiers, " 
he  said  gently.  "Are  you  not  taking  a  pessimistic  view 
of  affairs?" 


REALISM  459 

"Not  at  all!"  and  Villiers,  warming  with  his  subject, 
v;alked  up  and  down  the  room  excitedly.  "Nor  am  I 
judging  by  the  narrow  observation  of  any  particular  'set' 
or  circle.  I  look  at  the  expressive,  visible  outcome  of 
the  whole,  the  plainly  manifest  signs  of  the  threatening 
future.  Of  coursa  there  are  ever  so  many  good  people, 
earnest  people,  thinking  people — but  they  are  a  mere  hand- 
ful, compared  to  the  overpowering  millions  opposed  to 
them,  and  whose  motto  is 'Evil,  be  thou  my  good. '  Now 
you,  for  instance,  are  full  of  splendid  ideas,  and  lucid 
plans  of  check  and  reform;  you  are  seized  with  a  pas- 
sionate desire  to  do  something  great  for  the  world,  and 
you  are  ready  to  speak  the  truth  fearlessly  on  all  occa- 
sions. But  just  think  of  the  enormous  task  it  would 
be  to  stir  to  even  half  an  inch  of  aspiring  nobleness  the 
frightful  mass  of  corruption  of  London  to-day!  In  all 
trades  and  professions  it  is  the  same  story;  everything 
is  a  question  of  gain.  To  begin  with,  look  at  the  church, 
the  'pillar  of  the  state'!  There,  all  sorts  of  worthless, 
incompetent  men  are  hastily  thrust  into  livings  by 
wealthy  patrons  who  care  not  a  jot  as  to  whether  they 
are  morally  or  intellectually  fit  for  their  sacred  mission, 
and  a  disgraceful,  universal  muddle  is  the  result.  From 
this  muddle,  which  resembles  a  sort  of  stagnant  pool, 
emerge  the  strangest  fungus-growths — clergymen  who 
take  to  private  theatricals,  ostensibly  for  the  purposes  of 
charity,  but  really  to  gratify  their  own  tastes  and  lean- 
ings toward  the  mummer's  art,  all  the  time  utterly  re- 
gardless of  the  effect  their  behavior  is  likely  to  have  on 
the  minds  of  the  unthinking  populace  who  are  led  by 
the  newspapers,  and  who  read  therein  bantering  inquiries 
as  to  whether  the  Church  is  coquetting  with  the  Stage; 
whether  the  two  are  likely  to  become  one;  and  whether 
religion  will  in  the  future  occupy  no  more  serious  con- 
sideration than  the  drama?  What  is  one  to  think,  when 
one  sees  clerical  notabilities  seated  in  the  stalls  of  a 
theater,  complacently  looking  on  at  the  representation 
of  a  'society-play'  degrading  in  plot,  repulsive  in  detail, 
and  in  nearly  every  case  having  to  do  with  a  married 
woman  who  indulges  in  a  lover  as  a  matter  of  course — 
a  play  full  of  ambiguous  side-hits  and  equivocal  jests, 
which,  if  the  men  of  the  Church  were  staunch  to  their 
vocation,  they  would  be  the  first  to  condemn.  Why,  I 


460  "ARDATH" 

t 

saw  the  other  day  in  a  fairly  reliable  journaf  that  some 
of  these  excellent  'divines'  were  going  to  start  'smok- 
ing sermons,'  a  sort  of  imitation  of  smoking-concerts,  I 
suppose,  which  are  vile  enough,  in  all  conscience;  but 
to  mix  up  religious  matters  with  the  selfish  'smoke- 
mania'  is  viler  still.  I  say  that  any  clergyman  who  will 
allow  men  to  smoke  in  his  presence,  while  he  is  preach- 
ing sacred  doctrine,  is  a  coarse  cad,  and  ought  to  be 
hounded  out  of  the  Church!" 

He  paused,  his  face  flushing  with  vigorous,  righteous 
wrath.  Alwyn's  eyes  grew  dark  with  an  infinite  pain. 
His  thoughts  always  fled  back  to  his  dream  of  Al-Kyris, 
with  a  tendency  to  draw  comparisons  between  the  past 
and  the  present.  The  religion  of  that  long-buried  city 
had  been  mere  mummery  and  splendid  outward  show. 
What  was  the  religion  of  London?  He  moved  rest- 
lessly. 

"How  all  the  old  warnings  of  history  repeat  them- 
selves!" he  said  suddenly.  "An  age  of  mockery,  sham 
sentiment,  and  irreverence  has  always  preceded  a  down- 
fall. Can  it  be  possible  that  we  are  already  receiving 
hints  of  the  downfall  of  England?" 

"Ay,  not  only  of  England,  but  of  a  good  many  other 
nations  besides,"  said  Villiers;  "or  if  not  actual  down- 
fall, change  and  terrific  upheaval.  France  and  England, 
particularly,  are  the  prey  of  the  demon  of  realism,  and 
all  the  writers  who  should  use  their  pens  to  inspire  and 
elevate  the  people  assist  in  degrading  them.  When  their 
books  are  not  obscene,  they  are  blasphemous.  Russia, 
too,  joins  in  the  cry  of  realism!  realism!  Let  us  have 
the  filth  of  the  gutters,  the  scourings  of  dust-holes,  the 
corruption  of  graves,  the  odors  of  malaria,  the  howlings 
of  drunkards,  the  revelings  of  sensualists — the  worst 
side  of  the  world  in  its  vilest  aspect,  which  is  the  only 
real  aspect  to  those  who  are  voluntarily  vile!  Let  us 
see  to  what  a  reeking  depth  of  unutterable,  shameless 
brutality  man  can  fall  if  he  chooses — not,  as  formerly, 
when  it  was  shown  to  what  glorious  heights  of  noble 
supremacy  he  could  rise!  For,  in  this  age,  the  heights 
are  called  'transcendental  folly,'  and  the  reeking  depths 
are  called  Realism!" 

"And  yet  what    is    realism    really?"    queried    Alwyn. 
"Does  anybody  know?  It  is  supposed  to  be  the  actuality 


REALISM  |6l 

of  every-day  existence,  without  any  touch  of  romance  or 
pathos  to  soften  its  frequently  hideous  commonplace,  but 
the  fact  is,  the  commonplace  is  not  the  real.  The  highest 
flights  of  imagination  in  the  human  being  fail  to  grasp 
the  reality  of  the  splendors  everywhere  surrounding 
him,  and,  viewed  rightly,  realism  would  become  romance, 
and  romance  realism.  We  see  a  ragged  woman  in  the 
streets  picking  up  scraps  for  her  daily  food  ;  that  is  what 
we  may  call  realistic;  but  we  are  not  looking  at  the 
actual  woman  after  all !  We  cannot  see  her  inner  self, 
or  form  any  certain  comprehension  of  the  possible  ro- 
mance or  tragedy  which  that  inner  self  has  experienced 
or  is  experiencing.  We  see  the  outer  appearance  of  the 
woman,  but  what  of  that?  The  realism  of  the  suffering 
creature's  hidden  history  lies  beyond  us — so  far  beyond 
us  that  it  is  called  romance  because  it  seems  so  impos- 
sible to  fathom  or  understand." 

"True,  most  absolutely  true!"  said  Villiers  emphat- 
ically; "but  it  is  a  truth  you  will  get  very  few  to  admit. 
Everything  to-day  is  in  a  state  of  unsubstantiality  and 
sham.  We  have  even  sham  realism  as  well  as  sham  sen- 
timent, sham  religion,  sham  art,  sham  morality.  We 
have  a  Parliament  that  sits  and  jabbers  lengthy  plati- 
tudes that  lead  to  nothing,  while  army  and  navy  are 
slowly  slipping  into  a  state  of  helpless  desuetude,  and 
the  mutterings  of  discontented  millions  are  almost  unre- 
garded. The  specter  of  revolution,  assuming  somewhat 
of  the  shape  in  which  it  appalled  the  French  in  1798,  is 
dimly  approaching  in  the  distance.  Even  our  London 
county  council  bears  the  far-off  faint  shadow  of  a  very 
prosaic  resemblance  to  the  national  assembly  of  that  era, 
and  our  weak  efforts  to  cure  cureless  grievances,  and  to 
deafen  our  ears  to  crying  evils,  are  very  similar  to  the 
clumsy  attempts  made  by  Louis  XVI.  and  his  partisans 
to  botch  up  a  terribly  bad  business.  Oh,  the  people, 
the  people!  They  are  unquestionably  the  flesh,  blood, 
bone,  and  sinew  of  the  country,  and  the  English  people,1 
say  what  sneerers  will  to  the  contrary,  are  a  good  peo- 
ple— patient,  plodding,  forbearing,  strong,  and  on  the 
whole  most  equable  tempered;  but  their  teachers  teach 
them  wrongly,  and  confuse  their  brains  instead  of  clear- 
ing them,  and  throw  a  weight  of  compulsory  education 
at  their  heads,  without  caring  how  they  rray  use  it,  o? 


462  "ARDATH" 

how  such  a  blow  from  the  clenched  fist  of  knowledge 
may  stupefy  and  bewilder  them — and  the  consequence 
is,  that  now,  were  a  strong  man  to  rise,  with  a  lucid 
brain,  an  eloquent  power  of  expressing  truth,  a  great 
sympathy  with  his  kind,  and  an  immense  indifference  to 
his  own  fate  in  the  contest,  he  could  lead  this  vast, 
waiting,  wondering,  growling,  hydra-headed  London 
wheresoever  he  would  I" 

"What  an  orator  you  are,  Villiers!"  said  Alwyn  with 
a  half-smile.  "I  never  heard  you  come  out  so  strongly 
before. " 

"My  dear  fellow."  replied  Villiers  in  a  calmer  tone, 
"it's  enough  to  make  any  man  with  warm  blood  in  his 
veins  feel!  Everywhere  signs  of  weakness,  cowardice, 
compromise,  hesitation,  vacillation,  incompetency;  and 
everywhere,  in  thoughtful  minds,  the  keen  sense  of  fate 
advancing,  like  the  giant  in  the  seven-leagued  boots,  at 
huge  strides  every  day.  The  ponderous  law  and  the 
stolid  police  hem  us  in  on  each  side,  as  though  the  na- 
tion were  a  helpless  infant  toddling  between  two  portly 
nurses.  We  dare  not  denounce  a  scoundrel  and  liar,  but 
must  needs  put  up  with  him,  lest  we  should  be  involved 
in  an  action  for  libel,  and  we  dare  not  knock  down  a 
vulgar  bully,lest  we  should  be  given  in  charge  for  assault. 
Hence  liars  and  scoundrels  and  vulgar  bullies  abound, 
and  men  skulk  and  grin  and  play  the  double-face  till 
they  lose  all  manfulness.  Society  sits  smirking  foolishly 
on  the  top  of  a  smouldering  volcano,  and  the  chief  sym- 
bols of  greatness  among  us,  religion,  poesy,  art,  are 
burning  as  feebly  as  tapers  in  the  catacombs.  The  church 
resembles  a  drudge  who,  tired  of  routine,  is  gradually 
sinking  into  laziness  and  inertia.  And  the  press — ye 
gods!  the  press!" 

Here  speech  seemed  to  fail  him.  He  threw  himself 
into  a  chair,  and,  to  relieve  his  mind  kicked,  away  the 
advertisement  sheet  of  the  morning's  newspaper  with  so 
much  angry  vehemence  that  Alwyn  laughed  outright. 

"What  ails  you  now,  Villiers?"  he  demanded  mirth- 
fully. "You  are  a  regular  fire-eater — a  would-be  cru- 
sader against  a  modern  Sciracen  host !  Why  are  you 
choked  with  such  seemingly  unutterable  wrath?  What- 
of  the  press?  It  is  at  any  rate  free." 

"Freel1  cried  Villiers.  sitting  bolt  upright  and   shoot- 


REALISM  463 

5ng  out  the  word  like  a  bullet  from  a  gun.  "Free?  the 
press?  It  is  the  veriest  bound  slave  that  was  ever  ham- 
pered by  the  chains  of  party  prejudice,,  and  the  only 
attempt  at  freedom  it  ever  makes  in  its  lower  grades  is 
an  occasional  outbreak  into  scurrility.  And  yet  think 
what  a  majestic  power  for  good  the  true,  real  liberty  of 
the  press  might  wield  over  the  destinies  of  nations! 
Broadly  viewed,  the  press  should  be  the  strong,  prac- 
tical, helping  right  hand  of  civilization,  dealing  out  equal 
justice,  equal  sympathy,  equal  instruction;  it  should  be 
the  fosterer  of  the  arts  and  sciences,  the  every-day  guide 
of  the  morals  and  culture  of  the  people;  it  should  not 
specially  advocate  any  cause  save  honor;  it  should  be 
as  far  as  possible  the  unanimous  voice  of  the  nation. 
It  should  be,  but  what  is  it?  Look  round  and  judge  for 
yourself.  Every  daily  paper  panders  more  or  less  to  the 
lowest  tastes  of  the  mob,  while  if  the  higher  sentiments 
of  man  are  not  actually  sneered  at,  they  are  made  a  sub- 
ject for  feeble  surprise  or  vapid  'gush.'  An  act  of  heroic 
unselfishness  meets  with  such  a  cackling  chorus  of  amazed 
half-bantering  approval  from  the  leading-article  writers 
that  one  is  forced  to  accept  the  suggestion  implied — 
namely,  that  to  be  heroic  or  unselfish  is  evidently  an 
outbreak  of  noble  instinct  that  is  entirely  unexpected 
and  remarkable;  nay,  even  eccentric  and  inexplicable. 
The  spirit  of  mockery  pervades  everything;  and  while 
the  story  of  a  murder  is  allowed  to  occupy  three  and 
four  columns  of  print,  the  account  of  some  great  scien- 
tific discovery  or  the  report  of  some  famous  literary  or 
artistic  achievement  is  squeezed  into  a  few  lukewarm 
and  unsatisfactory  lines.  I  have  seen  a  female  para- 
graphist's  idiotic  description  of  an  actress'  gown  allowed 
to  take  more  space  in  a  journal  than  the  review  of  a 
first-class  book.  Moreover,  if  an  honest  man,  desirous 
of  giving  vent  to  an  honest  opinion  on  some  crying  abuse 
of  the  day,  were  to  set  forth  that  opinion  in  letter  form 
and  try  to  get  it  published  in  a  leading  and  important 
newspaper,  the  chances  are  ten  to  one  that  it  would 
never  be  inserted,  unless  he  happened  to  know  the  ed- 
itor or  one  of  the  staff,  and  perhaps  not  even  then — 
because,  mark  you,  his  opinion  must  be  in  accordance 
with  the  literary  editor's  opinion,  or  it  will  be  consid- 
ered of  no  value  to  the  world.  Consider  that  gigantic 


464  "ARDATH" 

absurdity!  Consider  that  when  we  read  our  newspaper 
we  are  not  learning  the  views  of  Europe  on  a  certain 
subject;  we  are  absorbing  the  idea  of  the  editor,  to  whom 
everything  must  be  submitted  before  insertion  in  the 
oracular  columns  we  pin  our  faith  on.  Thus  it  is  that 
criticism — literary  criticism  at  any  rate— is  a  lost  art;  you 
know  that.  A  man  must  either  be  dead  (or  considered 
dead)  or  in  a  'clique'  to  receive  any  open  encourage- 
ment at  all  from  the  so-called  'crack'  critics.  And  the 
cliquey  men  are  generally  such  stupendous  bigots  for 
their  own  particular  and  restricted  form  of  'style.'  Any- 
thing new  they  hate  ;  anything  daring  they  treat  with 
ridicule.  Some  of  them  have  no  hesitation  in  saying 
they  prefer  Matthew  Arnold  (remember,  he's  dead!)  to 
Tennyson  and  Swinburne  (as  yet  living),  while,  as  a 
fact,  if  we  are  to  go  by  the  high  standards  of  poetical  art 
left  us  by  Shakespeare,  Keats,  Shelley,  and  Byron, 
Matthew  Arnold  is  about  the  very  tamest,  most  unimag- 
inative, bald  bard  that  ever  kindled  a  lucifer-match  of 
verse  and  fancied  it  the  fire  of  Apollo!  It's  utterly  im- 
possible to  get  either  a  just  or  broad  view  of  literature 
out  of  cliques,  and  the  press,  like  many  of  our  other 
'magnificent*  institutions,  is  working  entirely  on  a  wrong 
system.  But  who  is  going  to  be  wise  or  strong  or  dip- 
lomatiq  enough  to  reform  it?  No  one  at  present,  and 
we  shall  jog  along,  and  read  up  the  details  of  vice  in  our 
dailies  and  weeklies,  till  we  almost  lose  the  savor  of  vir- 
tue, and  till  the  last  degraded  end  comes  of  it  all,  and 
blatant  young  America  thrones  herself  on  the  shores  of 
Britain  and  sends  her  eagle-screech  of  conquest  echoing 
over  Old  World  and  New." 

"Don't  think  it,  Villiers!"  exclaimed  Alwyn  impetu- 
ously. "There  is  a  mettle  in  the  English  that  will  never 
be  conquered!" 

Villiers  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "We  will  hope  so, 
my  dear  boy!"  he  said  resignedly.  "But  the  'mettle,' 
under  bad  government,  with  bad  weapons  and  more  or 
less  untried  ships,  can  scarcely  be  blamed  if  it  should 
not  be  able  to  resist  a  tremendous  force  majeure.  Be- 
sides, all  the  parliaments  in  the  world  cannot  upset  the 
laws  of  the  universe.  If  things  are  false  and  corrupt, 
they  must  be  swept  away.  Nature  will  not  have  them; 
she  will  transmute  and  transform  them  somehow,  no 


REALISM  465 

matter  at  what  cost.      It    is  the    cry  of  the  old  prophets 

•  over  again:    'Because    ye  have    not    obeyed     God's    law, 
therefore  shall  ye  meet    with    destruction.'      Egoism    is 

-certainly  not  God's  law,  and  we  shall  have  to  return  on 
our  imagined  progressive  steps  and  be  beaten  with  rod- 

•  of  affliction  till  we  understand    what    his  law  is.      It  is, 
for  one  thing,  the  wheel  that  keeps  this  universe  going. 

'Our  laws  are  no  use  whatever  in  the  management  cf  his 
sublime  cosmos.  Nations,  like  individuals,  are  punished 
for  their  own  willful  misdeeds;  the  punishment  -may  be 
tardy,  but  sure  as  death  it  comes.  And  I  fancy  America 
will  be  our  'scourge  in  the  Lord's  hand'  —  as  the  Bible 
hath  it.  That  pretty,  dollar-crusted  young  Republican 
wants  an  aristocracy:  she  will  engraft  it  on  the  old  roots 
here — in  fact,  she  has  already  begun  to  engraft  it.  It  is 
even  on  the  cards  that  she  may  need  a  monarchy.  If 
she  does,  she  will  plant  it  here!  Then  it  will  be  time 
for  Englishmen  to  adopt  another  country,  and  forget,  if 
they  can,  their  own  disgraced  nationality.  And  yet  if, 
as  Shakespeare  says,  England  were  to  herself  but  true, 
if  she  had  great  statesmen,  as  of  yore — intellectual, 
earnest,  self-abnegating,  fearless,  unhesitating  workers 
who  would  devote  themselves  heart  and  soul  to  her  wel- 
fare— she  might  gather  not  only  her  colonies,  but  Amer- 
ica also,  to  her  knee,  as  a  mother  gathers  children,  and 
the  most  magnificent  Christian  empire  the  world  has  ever 
seen  might  rise  up,  a  supreme  marvel  of  civilization  and 
union  that  would  make  all  other  nations  wonder  and 
revere.  But  the  selfishness  of  the  day,  and  the  ruling 
passion  of  gain,  are  the  fatal  obstructions  in  the  path  of 
such  a  desirable  millennium." 

He  ended  abruptly.  He  had  unburdened  his  mind  to 
one  whom  he  knew  understood  him  and  sympathized 
with  him,  and  he  turned  to  the  perusal  of  some  letters 
just  received. 

The  two  friends  were  sitting  that  morning  in  the 
breakfast-room,  a  charming  little  octagonal  apartment 
looking  out  on  a  small,  very  small  garden,  which, despite 
the  London  atmosphere,  looked  just  now  very  bright 
with  tastefully  arranged  parterres  of  white  and  yellow 
crocuses,  mingled  with  the  soft  blue  of  the  dainty  hepa- 
tica,  that  frank-faced  little  blossom  which  seems  to  ex- 
press such  an  honest  confidence  in  the  goodness  of  God's 


466  "ARDATH" 

sky.  A  few  sparrows  of  dissipated  appearance  were 
bathing  their  sooty  plumes  in  a  pool  of  equally  sooty 
water  left  in  the  garden  as  a  token  of  last  night's  rain, 
and  they  splashed  and  twittered  and  debated  and  fussed 
with  each  other  concerning  their  ablutions,  with  almost  as 
much  importance  as  could  have  been  displayed  by  effem- 
inate Romans  of  the  Augustan  era  when  disporting  them- 
selves in  their  sumptuous  Jherma.  Alwyn's  eyes  rested 
on  them  unseeingly;  his  thoughts  were  very  far  away 
from  all  his  surroundings.  Before  his  imagination  rose 
a  Gehenna-like  picture  of  the  world  in  which  he  had  to 
live,  the  world  of  fashion  and  form  and  usage,  the  world 
he  was  to  try  and  rouse  to  a  sense  of  better  things.  A 
Promethean  task  indeed,  to  fill  human  life  with  new 
symbols  of  hope,  to  set  up  a  white  standard  of  faith 
amid  the  swift  rushing-on  and  reckless  trampling-down 
of  desperate  battle,  to  pour  out  on  all,  rich  or  poor, 
worthy  or  unworthy,  the  divine-born  balm  of  sympathy, 
which,  when  given  freely  and  sincerely  from  man  to 
man,  serves  often  as  a  check  to  vice,  a  silent  yet  all- 
eloquent  rebuke  to  crime,  and  can  more  easily  instill  into 
refractory  intelligences  things  of  God  and  desires  for 
good  than  any  preacher's  argument,  no  matter  how 
finely  worded — to  touch  the  big,  wayward,  better  heart 
of  humanity!  Could  he  in  very  truth  do  it,  or  was  the 
work  too  vast  for  his  ability?  Tormented  by  various 
cross-currents  of  feeling,  he  gave  vent  to  a  troubled 
sigh  and  looked  dubiously  at  his  friend. 

"In  such  a  state  of  things  as  you  describe,  Villiers," 
he  said,  "what  a  useless  unit  /  am!  A  poet!  Who  wants 
me  in  this  age  of  sale  and  barter?  Is  not  a  producer  of 
poems  always  considered  more  or  less  of  a  fool  nowa- 
days, no  matter  how  much  his  words  may  be  in  fashion 
for  the  moment?  I  am  sure,  in  spite  of  the  success  of 
'Nourhalma,'  that  the  era  of  poetry  has  passed;  and, 
moreover,  it  certainly  seems  to  have  given  place  to  the 
very  baldest  and  most  unbeauteous  forms  of  prose.  As, 
for  instance,  if  a  book  is  written  which  contains  what  is 
called  'poetic  prose,'  the  critics  are  all  ready  to  de- 
nounce it  as  'turgid,'  'overladen,'  'strained  for  effect,' 
and  'hysterical-sublime.'  Heine's  'Reisebilder, '  which 
is  one  of  the  most  exquisite  poems  in  prose  ever  given 
to  the  world,  is  nearly  incomprehensible  to  the  majority 


REALISM  467 

of  English  minds— so  much  so,  indeed,  that  the  English 
translators,  in  their  rendering  of  it,  have  not  only  lost 
the  delicate  glamour  of  its  fairy-like  fancifulness,  but 
have  also  blunted  all  the  fine  points  of  its  dazzling  sar- 
casm and  wealth  of  imagery.  It  is  evident  enough  that 
the  larger  mass  of  people  prefer  mediocrity  to  high  ex- 
cellence, else  such  a  number  of  merely  mediocre  works 
of  art  would  not  and  could  not  be  tolerated.  And  as 
long  as  mediocrity  is  permitted  to  hold  ground,  it  is  al- 
most an  impossibility  to  do  much  toward  raising  the 
standard  of  literature.  The  few  who  love  the  best  au- 
thors are  as  a  mere  drop  in  the  ocean  of  those  who  not 
only  choose  the  worst  but  who  also  fail  to  see  any  differ- 
ence between  good  and  bad." 

"True  enough!"  assented  Villiers.  "Still,  the  'few' 
you  speak  of  are  worth  all  the  rest.  For  the  'few' 
Homer  wrote — Plato,  Marcus  Aurelius,  Epictetus — and 
the  'few'  are  capable  of  teaching  the  majority,  if  they 
will  only  set  about  it  rightly.  But  at  present  they  are 
setting  about  it  wrongly.  All  children  are  taught  to 
read,  but  no  child  is  guided  in  what  to  read.  This  is 
like  giving  a  loaded  gun  to  a  boy  and  saying,  'Shoot 
away !  No  matter  in  what  direction  you  point  your  aim. 
Shoot  yourself,  if  you  like,  and  others  too.  Anyhow 
you've  got  the  gun!'  Of  course  there  are  a  few  fellows 
who  have  occasionally  drawn  up  a  list  of  books  as  suit- 
able for  everybody's  perusal,  but  then  these  lists  cannot 
be  taken  as  true  criterions,  as  they  all  differ  from  one 
another  as  much  as  church-sects.  One  would-be  instruc- 
tor in  the  art  of  reading  says  we  ought  all  to  study  'Tom 
Jones.'  Now,  I  don't  see  the  necessity  of  that!  And, 
oddly  enough,  these  lists  scarcely  ever  include  the  name 
of  a  poet,  which  is  the  absurdest  mistake  ever  made.  A 
liberal  education  in  the  highest  works  of  poetry  is  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  the  thinking  abilities  of  man.  But, 
Alwyn,  you  need  not  trouble  yourself  about  what  is  good 
for  the  million  and  what  isn't.  Whatever  you  write  is 
sure  to  be  read  now;  you've  got  the  ear  of  the  public — 
the  'fair  large  ear'  of  the  ass'  head  which  disguises 
Bottom  the  weaver,  who  frankly  says  of  himself:  'I  am 
such  a  tender  ass,  if  my  hair  do  but  tickle  me  I  must 
scratch !'" 

Alwvn  smiled.     He  was  thinking  of  what  his  shadow- 


468  "ARDATH" 

self  had  said  on  this  very  subject:  "A  book  or  poem,  to 
be  great  and  keep  its  greatness  hereafter,  must  be  judged 
by  the  natural  instinct  of  peoples.  This  world-wide 
decision  has  never  yet  been  and  never  will  be  hastened 
by  any  amount  of  written  criticism;  it  is  the  responsive 
beat  of  the  enormous  pulse  of  life  that  thrills  through 
all  mankind,  high  and  low,  gentle  and  simple.  Its  great 
throbs  are  slow  and  solemnly  measured,  yet  if  once  it 
answers  to  a  poet's  touch,  that  poet's  name  is  made 
glorious  forever!"  He,  in  the  character  of  Sah-luma, 
had  seemed  to  utter  these  sentiments  many  ages  ago  ; 
and  now  the  words  repeated  themselves  in  his  thoughts 
with  a  new  and  deep  intensity  of  meaning. 

"Of  course,"  added  Villiers  suddenly,  "you  must  ex- 
pect plenty  of  adverse  criticism  now,  as  it  is  known  be- 
yond all  doubt  that  you  are  alive  and  able  to  read  what 
is  written  concerning  you;  but  if  you  once  pay  atten- 
tion to  critics,  you  may  as  well  put  aside  pen  altogether, 
as  it  is  the  business  of  these  worthies  never  to  be  en- 
tirely satisfied  with  anything.  Even  Shelley  and  Byron, 
in  the  critical  capacity,  abused  Keats  till  the  poor  suffer- 
ing youth,  who  promised  to  be  greater  than  either  of 
them,  died  of  a  broken  heart  as  much  as  disease.  This 
sort  of  injustice  will  go  on  to  the  end  of  time,  or  till 
men  become  more  Christianized  than  Paul's  version  of 
Christianity  has  ever  yet  made  them." 

Here  a  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  the  conversa- 
tion. The  servant  entered,  bringing  a  note  gorgeously 
crested  and  coroneted  in  gold.  Villiers,  to  whom  it  was 
addressed,  opened  and  read  it. 

"What  shall  we  do  about  this?"  he  asked,  v/hen  his 
man  had  retired.  "It  is  an  invitation  from  the  Duchesse 
de  la  Santoisie.  She  asks  us  to  go  and  dine  with  her 
next  week — a  party  of  twenty — reception  afterward.  I 
think  we'd  better  accept.  What  do  you  say?" 

Alwyn  roused  himself  from  his  revery. 

"Anything  to  please  you,  my  dear  boy,"  he  answered 
cheerfully.  "But  I  haven't  the  faintest  idea  who  the 
Duchesse  de  la  Santoisie  is." 

"No?  Well,  she's  an  English  woman  who  has  mar- 
ried a  French  duke.  He  is  a  delightful  old  fellow — the 
pink  of  courtesy,  and  the  model  of  perfect  egotism.  A 
true  Parisian,  and,  of  course,  an  atheist — a  very  polished 


REALISM  469 

atheist  too,  with  a  most  charming  reliance  on  his  own 
infallibility.  His  wife  writes  novels  which  have  a  slight 
leaning  toward  Zolaism.  She  is  an  extremely  witty 
woman — sarcastic  and  cold-blooded  enough  to  be  a  fe- 
male Robespierre,  yet,  on  the  whole,  amusing  as  a  study 
of  what  curious,  nondescript  forms  the  feminine  nature 
can  adopt  unto  itself,  if  it  chooses.  She  has  an  immense 
respect  for  genius — mind,  I  say  genius  advisedly,  be- 
cause she  really  is  one  of  those  rare  few  who  cannot  en- 
dure mediocrity.  Everything  at  her  house  is  the  best 
of  its  kind,  and  the  people  she  entertains  are  the  best 
of  theirs.  Her  welcome  of  you  will  be  at  any  rate  a 
sincerely  admiring  one;  and  as  I  think,  in  spite  of  your 
desire  for  quiet,  you  will  have  to  show  yourself  some- 
where, it  may  as  well  be  there." 

Alwyn  looked  dubious,  and  not  at  all  resigned  to  the 
prospect  of  "showing  himself." 

"Your  description  of  her  does  not  strike  me  as  partic- 
ularly attractive,"  he  said.  "I  cannot  endure  that  nine- 
teenth-century hermaphroditic  production,  a  mannish 
woman." 

"Oh,  but  she  isn't  altogether  mannish!"  declared  Vil- 
liers.  "Besides,  I  mustn't  forget  to  add  that  she  is  ex- 
tremely beautiful." 

Alwyn  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently.  His  friend 
noticed  the  gesture,  and  laughed.  "Still  impervious  to 
beauty,  old  boy?"  he  said  gayly.  "You  always  were,  I 
remember. " 

Alwyn  flushed  a  little,  and  rose  from  his  chair. 

"Not  always,"  he  answered  steadily.  "There  have 
been  times  in  my  life  when  the  beauty  of  woman — mere 
physical  beauty — has  exercised  great  influence  over  me. 
But  1  have  lately  learned  how  a  fair  face  may  sometimes 
mask  a  foul  mind;  and  unless  I  can  see  the  substance  of 
soul  looking  through  the  semblance  of  body,  then  1  know 
that  the  beauty  I  seem  to  behold  is  mere  appearance  and 
not  reality.  Hence,  unless  your  beautiful  duchess  be 
like  the  'king's  daughter'  of  David's  psalm,  'all  glorious 
within,'1  her  apparent  loveliness  will  have  no  charm  for 
rne!  Now" — and  he  smiled,  and  spoke  in  a  less  serious 
tone — "if  you  have  no  objection,  I  am  off  to  my  room  to 
scribble  for  an  hour  or  so.  Come  for  me  if  you  want 
me;  you  know  I  don't  in  the  least  mind  being  disturbed." 


470  "ARBATH" 

But  Villiers  detained  him  a  moment,  and  looked  in- 
quisitively at  him,  full  in  the  eyes. 

"You've  got  some  singular  new  attraction  about  you, 
Alwyn, "  he  said,  with  a  strange  sense  of  keen  inward 
excitement,  as  he  met  his  friend's  calm  yet  flashing  glance 
— "something  mysterious — something  that  compels! 
What  is  it?  I  believe  that  visit  of  yours  to  the  ruins  of 
Babylon  had  a  more  important  motive  than  you  will 
admit.  Moreover,  I  believe  you  are  in  love!" 

"In  love!:l  Alwyn  laughed  a  little  as  he  repeated  the 
words.  "What  a  foolish  term  that  is,  when  you  come 
to  think  of  it!  For  to  be  in  love  suggests  the  possibility 
of  getting  out  again,  which,  if  love  be  true,  can  never 
happen.  Say  that  /  love  and  you  will  be  nearer  the 
mark.  Now  don't  look  so  mystified,  and  don't  ask  me 
any  more  questions  just  now.  To-night,  when  we  are 
sitting  together  in  the  library,  I'll  tell  you  the  whole 
story  of  my  Babylonian  adventure. " 

And  with  a  light  parting  wave  of  the  hand  he  left  the 
raom,  and  Villiers  heard  him  humming  a  tune  softly  to 
himself  as  he  ascended  the  stairs  to  his  own  apartment, 
where,  ever  since  he  arrived,  he  had  made  it  his  custom 
to  do  two  or  three  hours'  steady  writing  every  morning. 
For  a  moment  or  so  after  he  had  gone  Villiers  stood  lost 
in  thought,  with  knitted  brows  and  meditative  eyes; 
<  then,  rousing  himself,  he  went  off  to  his  study,  and  sit- 
ting down  at  his  desk,  wrote  an  answer  to  the  Duchesse 
de  la  Santoisie,  accepting  her  invitation. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

REWARDS    OF  FAME. 

AN  habitual  resident  in  London,  who  is  gifted  with  a 
keen  faculty  of  hearing  and  observation,  will  soon  learn 
to  know  instinctively  the  various  characteristics  of  the 
people  who  call  upon  him  by  the  particular  manner  in 
which  each  one  handles  his  door-bell  or  knocker.  He 
will  recognize  the  timid  from  the  bold,  the  modest  from 
the  arrogant,  the  meditative  thinker  from  the  bustling 


REWARDS  OF  FAME  471 

man  of  fashion,  the  familiar  friend  from  the  formal 
acquaintance.  Every  individual's  method  of  announc- 
ing his  or  her  arrival  to  the  household  is  distinctly  differ- 
ent, and  Villiers,  who  studied  a  little  of  everything, 
had  not  failed  to  take  note  of  the  curiously  diversified 
degrees  of  single  and  double  rapping  by  means  of  which 
his  visitors  sought  admittance  to  his  abode.  In  fact, 
he  rather  prided  himself  on  being  able  to  guess  with 
almost  invariable  correctness  what  special  type  of  man 
or  woman  was  at  his  door,  provided  he  could  hear  the 
whole  diapason  of  their  knock,  from  beginning  to  end. 
When  he  was  shut  in  his  "den,"  however,  the  sounds 
were  muffled  by  distance,  and  he  could  form  no  just 
judgment.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  did  not  hear  them 
at  all,  especially  if  he  happened  to  be  playing  his  'cello 
at  the  time.  So  that  this  morning  he  was  considerably 
startled  when,  having  finished  his  letter  to  the  Duchesse 
de  la  Santoisie,  a  long  and  persistent  rat-tat-tatting 
echoed  noisily  through  the  house,  like  the  smart, 
quick  blows  of  a  carpenter's  hammer — a  species  of 
knock  that  was  entirely  unfamiliar  to  him,  and  that, 
while  so  emphatic  in  character,  suggested  to  his  mind 
neither  friend  nor  foe.  He  laid  down  his  pen,  listened, 
and  waited.  In  a  minute  or  two  his  servant  entered 
the  room. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  a  lady  to  see  Mr.  Alwyn.  Shall 
I  show  her  up?" 

Villiers  rose  slowly  out  of  his  chair,  and  stood  eyeing 
his  man  in  blank  bewilderment. 

"A  lady! — to  see  Mr.  Alwyn!"  he  repeated,  his  thoughts 
instantly  reverting  to  his  friend's  vaguely  hinted  love- 
affair.  "What  name?" 

"She  gives  no  name,  sir.  She  says  it  isn't  needed — 
Mr.  Alwyn  will  know  who  she  is." 

"Mr.  Alwyn  will  know  who  she  is,  will  he?"  mur- 
mured Villiers,  dubiously.  "What  is  she  like — young 
and  pretty?" 

Over  the  man-servant's  staid  countenance  came  the 
glimmer  of  a  demure,  respectful  smile. 

"Oh,  no,  sir! — not  young,  sir!  A  person  about  fifty, 
I  should  say." 

This  was  mystifying.  A  person  about  fifty!  Who 
could  she  be?  Villiers  hastily  considered.  There  must 


473  "ARDATH" 

be  some  mistake,  he  thought.  At  any  rate  he  would  see 
the  unknown  intruder  himself  first,  and  find  out  what 
her  business  was,  before  breaking  in  upon  Alwyn's  peace- 
ful studies  upstairs. 

"Show  the  lady  in  here,"  he  said;  "I  can't  disturb 
Mr.  Alwyn  just  now." 

The  servant  retired,  and  soon  reappeared,  ushering  in 
a  tall,  gaunt,  black-robed  female,  who  walked  with  the 
stride  of  a  dragoon  and  the  demeanor  of  a  police-in- 
spsctor,  and  who,  merely  nodding  briskly  in  response  to 
Villiers'  amazed  bow,  selected  with  one  comprehensive 
glance  the  most  comfortable  chair  in  the  room,  and 
seated  herself  at  ease  therein.  She  then  put  up  her 
veil,  displaying  a  long,  narrow  face,  cold,  pale,  arrogant 
eyes,  a  nose  inclined  to  redness  at  the  tip,  and  a  thin, 
close-set  mouth,  lined  with  little  sarcastic  wrinkles, 
which  came  into  prominent  and  unbecoming  play  as  soon 
as  she  began  to  speak,  which  she  did  almost  immedi- 
ately. 

"I  suppose  I  had  better  introduce   myself  to  you,  Mr. 
Alwyn,"  she  said,  with  a    condescending    and    confident 
air,  "though  really  we  know  each  other  so  well  by  repu 
tation  that  there  seems  scarcely  any  necessity  for  it !    Of 
course  you  have  heard  of  'Tiger-Lily'?" 

Villiers  gazed  at  her  helplessly.  He  had  never  felt 
so  uncomfortable  in  all  his  life.  Here  was  a  strange 
woman,  who  had  actually  taken  bodily  possession  of  his 
apartment  as  though  it  were  her  own,  who  had  settled 
herself  down  in  his  particular  pet  Louis  Quatorze  chair, 
who  stared  at  him  with  the  scrutinizing  complacency  of 
a  professional  physiognomist,  and  who  seemed  to  think 
no  explanation  of  her  extraordinary  conduct  was  neces- 
sary, inasmuch  as  "of  course"  he,  Villiers,  had  heard 
of  "Tiger-Lily."  It  was  very  singular! — almost  like  mad- 
ness! Perhaps  she  was  mad!  How  could  he  tell?  She 
had  a  remarkably  high,  knobby  brow — a  brow  with  an  un- 
pleasantly bald  appearance,  owing  to  the  uncompromis- 
ing way  in  which  her  hair  was  brushed  well  off  it.  He 
had  seen  such  brows  before,  in  certain  "spiritualists," 
who  believed,  or  pretended  to  believe,  in  the  suddenly 
willed  dematerialization  of  matter;  and  they  were  mad, 
he  knew,  or  else  very  foolishly  feigning  madness. 

Endeavoring  to  compose  his  bewildered  mind,  he  fixed 


REWARDS  OF  FAME  473 

glass  in  eye  and  regarded  her  through  it  with  an  inquir- 
ing solemnity.  He  would  have  spoken,  but  before  he 
could  utter  a  word  she  went  on  rapidly: 

"You  are  not  in  the  least  like  the  person  I  imagined 
you  to  be!  However,  that  doesn't  matter.  Literary 
celebrities  are  always  so  different  to  what  we  expect!" 

"Pardon  me,  madam,"  began  Villiers  politely;  "you 
are  making  a  slight  error.  My  servant  probably  did  not 
explain.  I  am  not  Mr.  Alwyn ;  my  name  is  Villiers. 
Mr.  Alwyn  is  my  guest ;  but  he  is  at  present  very  much 
occupied,  and  unless  your  business  is  extremely  urgent 

"'Certainly  it  is  urgent,"  said  the  lady  decisively; 
"otherwise  I  should  not  have  come.  And  so  you  are  not 
Mr.  Aiwyn!  Well,  I  thought  you  couldn't  be.  Now 
then,  will  you  have  the  kindness  to  tell  Mr.  Alwyn  I 
%m  here?" 

By  this-  time  Villiers  had  recovered  his  customary  self- 
possession,  and  he  met  her  commanding  glance  with  a 
somewhat  o'eilant  coolness. 

"I  am  not  awure  to  whom  I  have  the  honor  of  speak- 
ing," he  said  frigidly.  "Perhaps  you  will  oblige  me  with 
your  name?" 

"My  name  doesn't  in  the  least  matter,"  she  replied 
calmly,  "though  I  will  tell  it  you  afterward,  if  you  wish. 
But  you  don't  seem  to  understand!  7am  'Tiger-Lily!'" 

The  situation  was  becoming  ludicrous.  Villiers  felt 
Strongly  disposed  to  laugh. 

"I'm  afraid  I  am  very  ignorant,"  he  said,  with  a  hu- 
morous sparkle  in  his  blue  eyes;  "but,  really,  I  am  quite 
in  the  dark  as  to  your  meaning.  Will  you  explain?" 

The  lady's  nose  grew  deeper  of  tint,  and  the  look  she 
shot  at  him  had  quite  a  killing  vindictiveness.  With 
evident  difficulty  she  forced  a  smile. 

"Oh,  you  must  have  heard  of  me!"  she  declared,  with 
a  ponderous  attempt  at  playfulness.  "You  read  the  papers, 
don't  you?" 

"Some  of  them,"  returned  Villiers  cautiously;  "not 
all.  Not  the  Sunday  ones,  for  instance." 

"Still,  you  can't  possibly  have  helped  seeing  my  de- 
scriptions of  famous  people — 'At  Home,'  you  know!  I 
write  for  ever  so  many  journals.  I  think" — and  she  be- 
came complacently  reflective — "I  think  I  may  say  with 


474  "ARDATH" 

perfect  truth  that  I  have  interviewed  everybody  who 
has  ever  done  anything  worth  noting,  from  our  biggest 
provision-dealer  to  our  latest  sensational  novelist.  And 
all  my  articles  are  signed  'Tiger-Lily.'  Now  do  you 
remember?  Oh,  you  must  remember!  I  am  so  very 
well  known!" 

There  was  a  touch  of  genuine  anxiety  in  her  voice  that 
was  almost  pathetic,  but  Villiers  made  no  attempt  to 
soothe  her  wounded  vanity. 

"I  have  no  recollection  whatever  of  the  name,"  he 
said  bluntly;  "but  that  is  easily  accounted  for,  as  I 
never  read  newspaper  descriptions  of  celebrities.  So 
you  are  an  'interviewer'  for  the  press?" 

"Exactly!"  and  the  lady  leaned  back  more  comfort- 
ably in  the  Louis  Quatorze  fauteuil.  "And  of  course  I 
want  to  interview  Mr.  Alwyn.  I  want" — here,  drawing 
out  a  business-looking  note-book  from  her  pocket,  she 
opened  it  and  glanced  at  the  different  headings  therein 
enumerated — "I  want  to  describe  his  personal  appear- 
ance ;  to  know  when  he  was  born  and  where  he  was  ed- 
ucated; whether  his  father  or  mother  had  literary  tastes ; 
whether  he  had,  or  has,  brothers  or  sisters,  or  both; 
whether  he  is  married  or  likely  to  be,  and  how  much 
money  he  has  made  by  his  book."  She  paused  and  gave 
an  upward  glance  at  Villiers,  who  returned  it  with  a 
blank  and  stony  stare. 

"Then,"  she  resumed  energetically,  "I  wish  to  know 
what  are  his  methods  of  work — where  he  gets  his  ideas 
and  how  he  elaborates  them;  how  many  hours  he  writes 
at  a  time,  and  whether  he  is  an  early  riser;  also  what 
he  usually  takes  for  dinner — whether  he  drinks  wine  or 
is  a  total  abstainer;  and  at  what  hour  he  retires  to  rest. 
All  this  is  so  intensely  interesting  to  the  public !  Per- 
haps he  might  be  inclined  to  give  me  a  few  notes  of  his 
recent  tour  in  the  East,  and  of  course  I  should  be  very 
glad  if  he  will  state  his  opinions  on  the  climate,  cus- 
toms, and  governments  of  the  countries  through  which 
he  has  passed.  It's  a  great  pity  this  is  not  his  own 
house;  it  is  a  pretty  place,  and  a  description  of  it  would 
read  well.  Let  me  see!"  and  she  meditated;  "I  think 
I  could  manage  '.o  insert  a  few  lines  about  this  apart- 
ment. It  would  be  easy  to  say,  'The  picturesque  library 
in  the  house  of  the  Honorable  Francis  Villiers, where  Mr. 


REWARDS  OF  FAME  475 

AAwyn  received  me,'  etc.  Yes!  that  would  do  very  well 
— very  well  indeed !  I  should  like  to  know  whether  he 
has  a  residence  of  his  own  anywhere,  and  if  not,  whether 
he  intends  to  take  one  in  London,  because  in  the  latter 
case  it  would  be  as  well  to  ascertain  by  whom  he  intends 
to  have  it  furnished.  A  little  discussion  on  upholstery 
is  so  specially  fascinating  to  my  readers!  Then,  natur- 
ally, I  am  desirous  to  learn  how  the  erroneous  rumor  of 
his  death  was  first  started — whether  in  the  course  of  his 
travels  he  met  with  some  serious  accident,  or  illness, 
which  gave  rise  to  the  report.  Now,"  and  she  shut  her 
note-book  and  folded  her  hands,  "I  don't  mind  waiting 
an  hour  or  more  if  necessary;  but  am  sure  if  you  will 
tell  Mr.  Alwyn  who  I  am  and  what  I  have  come  for,  he 
will  be  only  too  delighted  to  see  me  with  as  little  de- 
lay as  possible." 

She  ceased.  Villiers  drew  a  long  breath.  His  com- 
pressed lips  parted  in  a  slightly  sarcastic  smile.  Squar- 
ing his  shoulders  with  that  peculiar  pugnacious  gesture 
of  his  which  always  indicated  to  those  who  knew  him 
well  that  his  mind  was  made  up,  and  that  nothing  would 
induce  him  to  alter  it,  he  said  in  a  tone  of  stiff  civility: 

."I  am  sorry,  madam — very  sorry;  but  I  am  compelled 
to  inform  you  that  your  visit  here  is  entirely  useless. 
Were  I  to  tell  my  friend  of  the  purpose  you  have  in  view 
concerning  him,  he  would  not  feel  so  much  flattered  as 
you  seem  to  imagine,  but  rather  insulted.  Excuse  my 
frankness.  You  have  spoken  plainly;  I  must  speak  plainly 
too.  Provision-dealers  and  sensational-story  writers 
may  find  that  it  serves  their  purpose  to  be  interviewed, 
if  only  as  a  means  of  gaining  extra  advertisement;  but  a 
truly  great  and  conscientious  author  like  Theos  Alwyn 
is  quite  above  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

The  lady  raised  her  pale  eyebrows  with  an  expression 
of  interrogative  scorn. 

"Above  all  that  sort  of  thing!"  she  echoed  incredulous- 
ly. "Dear  me!  How  very  extraordinary!  I  have  always 
found  all  our  celebrities  so  exceedingly  pleased  to  be 
given  a  little  additional  notoriety!  And  I  should  have 
thought  a  poet" — this  with  much  depreciative  emphasis 
— "would  have  been  particularly  glad  of  the  chance. 
Because,  of  course  you  know  that  unless  a  very  aston- 
ishing success  is  made,  as  in  the  case  of  Mr,  Alwyn's 


476  "ARDATH" 

'Nourbalma,'  people  really  take  such  slight  interest  in 
writers  of  verse  that  it  is  hardly  ever  worth  while  inter- 
viewing them." 

"Precisely!"  agreed  Villiers  ironically.  "The  private 
history  of  a  prize-fighter  would  naturally  be  much  more 
thrilling."  He  paused.  His  temper  was  fast  rising,  but 
quickly  reflecting  that  after  all  the  indignation  he  felt 
was  not  so  much  against  his  visitor  as  against  the  sys- 
tem she  represented,  he  resumed  quietly,  "May  I  ask 
you,  madam,  whether  you  have  ever  'interviewed'  Her 
Majesty  the  Queen?" 

Her  angry  glance  swept  slightingly  over  him, 
"Certainly  not!  Such  a  thing  would  be  impossible!" 
"Then  have  you  never  thought,"  went  on  Villiers, 
with  a  thrill  of  earnestness  in  his  manly,  vibrating  voice, 
"that  it  might  be  quite  as  impossible  to  'interview'  a 
great  poet,  who,  if  great  indeed,  is  in  every  way  as 
royal  as  any  sovereign  that  ever  adorned  a  throne?  I  do 
not  speak  of  petty  verse-writers;  I  say  a  great  poet,  by 
which  term  I  imply  a  great  creative  genius  who  is  hon- 
estly faithful  to  his  high  vocation.  Such  an  one  could 
no  more  tell  you  his  methods  of  work  than  a  rainbow 
could  prattle  about  the  way  it  shines;  and  as  for  his 
personal  history,  I  should  like  to  know  by  what  right 
society  is  entitled  to  pry  into  the  sacred  matters  of  a 
man's  private  life,  simply  because  he  happens  to  be 
famous.  I  consider  the  modern  love  of  prying  and 
probing  into  other  people's  affairs  a  most  degrading 
and  abominable  sign  of  the  times  ;  it  is  morbid,  unwhole- 
some, and  utterly  contemptible.  Moreover,  I  think  that 
writers  who  consent  to  be  'interviewed'  condemn  them- 
selves as  literary  charlatans,  unworthy  of  the  profession 
they  have  wrongfully  adopted.  You  see  I  have  the  cour- 
age of  my  opinions  on  this  matter.  In  fact,  I  believe 
if  every  one  were  to  speak,  their  honest  mind  openly,  a 
better  state  of  things  might  be  the  result,  and  'inter- 
viewing' would  gradually  come  to  be  considered  in  its 
true  light,  namely,  as  a  vulgar  and  illegitimate  method 
of  advertisement.  I  mean  no  disrespect  to  you,  madam" 
—this  as  the  lady  suddenly  put  down  her  veil,  thrust  her 
note-book  in  her  pocket,  and  rose  somewhat  bouncingly 
from  her  chair — "I  am  only  sorry  you  should  find  such 
an  occupation  as  that  of  the  'interviewer'  open  to  you. 


REWARDS  OF  FAME  477 

I  can  scarcely  imagine  such  work  to  be  congenial  to  a 
lady's  feelings,  as,  in  the  case  of  really  distinguished 
personages,  she  must  assuredly  meet  with  many  a  re- 
buff. I  hope  I  have  not  offended  you  by  my  bluntness — " 
Here  he  trailed  off  into  inaudible  polite  murmurs,  while 
the  "Tiger-Lily"  marched  steadily  toward  the  door. 

"Oh  dear,  no;  I  am  not  in  the  least  offended!"  she 
retorted  contemptuously  "On  the  contrary,  this  has 
been  a  most  amusing  experience — most  amusing,  I  assure 
you,  and  quite  unique!  Why" — and  suddenly  stopping 
short,  she  turned  smartly  round  and  gesticulated  with 
one  hand — "I  have  interviewed  all  the  favorite  actcrs  and 
actresses  in  London !  The  biggest  brewers  in  Great 
Britain  have  received  me  at  their  country  mansions,  and 
have  given  me  all  the  particulars  of  their  lives  from 
earliest  childhood.  The  author  of  'Hugger  Mugger's 
Curse'  took  the  greatest  pains  to  explain  to  me  how  he 
first  collected  the  materials  for  his  design.  The  author 
of  that  most  popular  story,  'Darling's  Twins,'  gave  me 
a  description  of  all  the  houses  he  has  ever  lived  in.  He 
even  told  me  where  he  purchased  his  writing-paper, 
pens,  and  ink!  And  to  think  that  a  poet  should  be  too 
grand  to  be  interrogated!  Oh,  the  idea  is  really  ver}r 
funny!  quite  too  funny  for  anything!"  She  gave  a  short 
laugh;  then,  relapsing  into  severity,  she  added,  "You 
will,  I  hope,  tell  Mr.  Alwyn  I  called?" 

Villiers  bowed.      "Assuredly!" 

"Thank  you!  Because  it  is  possible  he  may  have 
different  opinions  to  yours.  In  that  case,  if  he  writes 
me  a  line  fixing  an  appointment  I  shall  be  very  pleased 
to  call  again.  I  will  leave  my  card,  and  if  Mr.  Alwyn 
is  a  sensible  man  he  will  certainly  hold  broader  ideas  on 
the  subject  of  'interviewing'  than  you  appear  to  enter- 
tain. You  are  quite  sure  I  cannot  see  him?" 

"Quite!"  There  was  no  mistake  about  the  firm  em- 
phasis of  this  reply. 

"Oh,  very  well!"  here  she  opened  the  door,  rattling  the 
handle  with  rather  an  unnecessary  violence  "I'm  sorry 
to  have  taken  up  any  of  your  time,  Mr.  Villiers.  Good- 
morning  !" 

"Good-morning!"  returned  Villiers  calmly,  touching 
the  bell  that  his  servant  might  be  in  readiness  to  show 
tier  out.  But  the  baffled  "Tiger-Lily"  was  not  altogether 


4.78  "ARDATH" 

gone.  She  looked  back,  her  face  wrinkling  into  one  of 
those  strangely  unbecoming  expressions  of  grim  play- 
fulness. 

"I've  half  a  mind  to  make  an  'At  Home'  out  of  you!" 
she  said,  nodding  at  him  energetically;  "only  you're  not 
important  enough." 

Villiers  burst  out  laughing.  He  was  not  proof  against 
this  touch  of  humor,  and  on  a  sudden  good-natured  im- 
pulse sprang  to  the  door  and  shook  hands  with  her. 

"No,  indeed,  I  am  not!"  he  said,  with  a  charming 
smile  "Think  of  it!  I  haven't  even  invented  a  new 
biscuit!  Come,  let  me  see  you  into  the  hall!  I'm  really 
sorry  if  I've  spoken  roughly,  but  I  assure  you  Alwyn's 
not  at  all  the  sort  of  man  you  want  for  interviewing ; 
he's  far  too  modest  and  noble-hearted.  Believe  me, 
I'm  not  romancing  a  bit;  I'm  in  earnest.  There  are 
some  few  fine,  manly,  gifted  fellows  left  in  the  world, 
who  do  their  work  for  the  love  of  the  work  alone,  and  not 
for  sake  of  notoriety;  and  he  is  one  of  them.  Now,  I'm 
certain  if  you  were  quite  candid  with  me  you'd  admit 
that  you  yourself  don't  think  much  of  the  people  who 
actually  like  to  be  interviewed?" 

His  amiable  glance,  his  kindly  manner,  took  the 
gaunt  female  by  surprise,  and  threw  her  quite  off  her 
guard.  She  laughed — a  natural,  unforced  laugh,  in 
which  there  was  not  a  trace  of  bitterness.  He  was  really 
a  delightful  young  man,  she  thought,  in  spite  of  his  old- 
fashioned,  out-of-the-way  notions! 

"Well,  perhaps  I  don't!"  she  replied  frankly;  "but 
you  see  it  is  not  my  business  to  think  about  them  at 
all.  I  simply  'interview'  them;  and  I  generally  find 
they  are  very  willing, and  often  eager,  to  tell  me  all  about 
themselves — even  to  quite  trifling  and  unnecessary  de- 
tails. And  of  course  each  one  thinks  himself  or  herself 
the  only  or  the  chief  'celebrity'  in  London,  or,  for  that 
matter,  in  the  world.  I  have  always  to  tone  down  the 
egotistical  part  of  it  a  little,  especially  with  authors; 
for  if  I  were  to  write  out  exactly  what  they  separately 
say  of  their  contemporaries,  it  would  be  simply  fright- 
ful! They  would  be  all  at  daggers  drawn  in  no  time!,,  I 
assure  you  'interviewing'  is  often  a  most  delicate  and 
difficult  business." 

"Would  it  were  altogether   impossible!"  said   Villiers 


REWARDS   OF   FAME  479 

heartily.  "But  as  long  as  there  is  a  plethora  of  little 
authors  and  a  scarcity  of  great  ones,  so  long,  I  suppose, 
must  it  continue;  for  little  men  love  notoriety,  and 
great  ones  shrink  from  it,  just  in  the  same  way  that 
good  women  dislike  flattery  while  bad  ones  court  it.  i 
hope  you  don't  bear  me  any  grudge  because  I  consider 
my  friend  Alwyn  both  good  and  great,  and  resent  the 
idea  of  his  being  placed,  no  matter  with  what  excellent 
intention  soever,  on  the  level  of  the  small  and  mean?" 

The  lady  surveyed  him  with  a  twinkle  of  latent  ap- 
proval in  her  pale-colored  eyes. 

"Not  in  the  least!"  she  replied,  in  a  tone  of  perfect  good- 
humor.  "On  the  contrary,  I  rather  admire  your  frank- 
ness. Still,  I  think  that  as  matters  stand  nowadays 
you  are  very  odd,  and  I  suppose  your  friend  is  odd  too; 
but  of  course  there  must  be  exceptions  to  every  rule. 
At  the  same  time,  you  should  recollect  that,  in  many 
people's  opinion, to  be  'interviewed' is  one  of  the  chiefest 
rewards  of  fame!"  Villiers  shrugged  his  shoulders  ex- 
pressively. "Oh  yes,  it  seems  a  poor  reward  to  you, 
no  doubt,"  she  continued  smilingly;  "but  there  are  no 
end  of  authors  who  would  do  anything  to  secure  the 
notoriety  of  it.  Now,  suppose  that,  after  all,  Mr.  Alwyn 
does  care  to  submit  to  the  operation,  you  will  let  me 
know,  won't  you?" 

"Certainly  I  will!"  And  Villiers,  accepting  her  card, 
on  which  was  inscribed  her  own  private  name  and  ad- 
dress, shook  hands  once  more  and  bowed  her  courteously 
out.  No  sooner  had  the  door  closed  upon  her  than  he 
sprang  upstairs,  three  steps  at  a  time,  and  broke  impet- 
uously in  upon  Alwyn,  who,  seated  at  a  table  covered 
with  papers,  looked  up  with  a  surprised  smile  at  the 
abrupt  fashion  of  his  entrance.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
had  disburdened  himself  of  the  whole  story  of  the  "Tiger- 
Lily's"  visit,  telling  it  in  a  whimsical  way  of  his  own, 
much  to  the  amusement  of  his  friend,  who  listened,  pen 
in  hand,  with  a  half-laughing,  half  perplexed  light  in 
his  fine,  poetic  eyes. 

"Now,  did  I  not  express  the  proper  opinion?"  he  de- 
manded in  conclusion.  "Was  I  not  right  in  thinking 
you  would  never  consent  to  be  interviewed?" 

"Right?  Why  of  course  you  were!"  responded  Alwyn 
quickly.  "Can  you  imagine  me  calmly  stating  the  de« 


480 

tails  of  my  personal  life  and  history  to  a  strange  woman, 
and  allowing  her  to  turn  it  into  a  half-guinea  article  for 
some  society  journal?  But,  Villiers,  what  an  extraordinary 
state  of  things  we  are  coming  to,  if  the  press  can  actu- 
ally condescend  to  employ  a  sort  of  spy  or  literary  de- 
tective to  inquire  into  the  private  experience  of  each 
man  or  woman  who  comes  honorably  to  the  front!" 

"Honorably  or  <//>honorably,  it  doesn't  matter  which," 
said  Villiers.  "That  is  just  the  worst  of  it.  One  day 
it  is  an  author  who  is  'interviewed,'  the  next  it  is  a 
murderer — now  a  statesman,  then  a  ballet-dancer.  The 
same  'honor'  is  paid  to  all  who  have  won  any  distinct 
notoriety.  And  what  is  so  absurd  is,  that  the  reading 
million  don't  seem  able  to  distinguish  between  'notori- 
ety* and  'fame.'  The  two  things  are  so  widely,  utterly 
apart!  Byron's  reputation,  for  instance,  was  much  more 
notoriety  during  his  life  than  fame;  while  Keats  had 
actually  laid  hold  on  fame  while  as  yet  deeming  himself 
unfamous.  It's  curious,  but  true,  nevertheless,  that  very 
often  the  writers  who  thought  least  of  themselves  dur- 
ing their  lifetime  have  become  the  most  universally  re- 
nowned after  their  deaths.  Shakespeare,  I  dare  say, 
had  no  very  exaggerated  idea  of  the  beaviy  of  his  own 
plays.  He  seems  to  have  written  just  the  best  that  was 
in  him,  without  caring  what  anybody  thought  of  it.  And 
I  believe  that  is  the  only  way  to  succeed  in  the 
end." 

"In  the  end!"  repeated  Alwyn  dreamily.  "In  the  end 
no  worldly  success  is  worth  attaining.  A  few  thousand 
years,  and  the  greatest  are  forgotten." 

"Not  the  greatest,"  said  Villiers  warmly.  "The  great- 
est must  always  be  remembered." 

"No,  my  friend;  not  even  the  greatest!  Do  you  not 
think  there  must  have  been  great  and  wise  and  gifted 
men  in  Tyre,  in  Sidon,  in  Carthage,  in  Babylon?  There 
are  five  men  mentioned  in  Scripture  as  being  'ready  to 
write  swiftly' — Sarea,Dabria,  Selemia,  Ecanus,  and  Asiel. 
Where  is  the  no  doubt  admirable  work  done  by  these? 
Perhaps — who  knows? — one  of  them  was  as  great  as 
Homer  in  genius;  we  cannot  tell." 

"True, we  cannot  tell,"  responded  Villiers  meditatively. 
"But,  Alwyn,  if  you  persist  in  viewing  things  through 
such  tremendous  vistas  of  time,  and  in  measuring  the 


REWARDS  OF   FAME  481 

future  by  the  past,  then  one  may  ask  what  is  the  use  oi 
anything?" 

There  is  no  use  in  anything,  except  in  the  making  of 
a  strong,  persistent,  steady  effort  after  good,"  said  Alwyn 
earnestly.  "We  men  are  cast,  as  it  were,  between  two 
swift  currents — wrong  and  right,  self  and  God — and  it 
seems  more  easy  to  shut  our  eyes  and  drift  into  self  arid 
wrong  than  to  strike  out  brave  arms  and  swim,  despite 
all  difficulty,  toward  God  and  right;  yet  if  we  once  take 
,the  latter  course,  we  shall  find  it  the  most  natural  and 
the  least  fatiguing.  And  with  every  separate  stroke  of 
high  endeavor  we  carry  others  with  us,  we  raise  our  race, 
we  bear  it  onward,  upward!  And  the  true  reward,  or  best 
result  of  fame  is  that,  having  succeeded  in  winning  brief 
attention  from  the  multitude,  a  man  may  be  able  to  pro- 
nounce one  of  God's  lightning  messages  of  inspired  truth 
plainly  to  them,  while  they  are  yet  willing  to  stand  and 
listen.  This  momentary  hearing  from  the  people  is,  as 
I  take  it,  the  sole  reward  any  writer  can  dare  to  hope 
for;  and  when  he  obtains  it  he  should  remember  that  his 
audience  remains  with  him  but  a  very  short  while,  so 
that  it  is  his  duty  to  see  that  he  employ  his  chance  well — 
not  to  win  applause  for  himself,  but  to  cheer  and  lift 
others  to  noble  thought  and  still  more  noble  fulfillment." 

Villiers  regarded  him  wistfully. 

"Alwyn,  my  dear  fellow,  do  you  want  to  be  the  Sisy- 
phus of  this  era?  You  will  find  the  stone  of  evil  heavy 
to  roll  upward.  Moreover,  it  will  exhibit  the  usual  pain- 
ful tendency  to  slip  back  and  crush  you." 

"How  can  it  crush  me?"  asked  his  friend,  with  a 
serene  smile.  "My  heart  cannot  be  broken,  or  my  spirit 
dismayed;  and  as  for  my  body,  it  can  but  die;  and  death 
comes  to  every  man.  I  would  rather  try  to  roll  up  the 
stone,  however  fruitless  the  task,  than  sit  idly  looking 
at  it  and  doing  nothing." 

"Your  heart  cannot  be  broken?  Ah!  how  do  you  know?" 
and  Villiers  shook  his  head  dubiously.  "What  man  can 
be  certain  of  his  own  destiny?" 

"Every  man  can  will  his  own  destiny,"  returned  Alwyn 
firmly.  "That  is  just  it!  But  here  we  are  getting  into 
a  serious  discussion,  and  I  had  determined  to  talk  nc 
more  on  such  subjects  till  to-night." 

"And  to-night  we  are  to  go  in  for  them  thoroughly, 
\  suppose?"  inquired  Villiers.  with  a  quick  look. 


482  "ARDATH" 

"To-night,  my  dear  boy,  you  will  have  to  decide 
whether  you  consider  me  mad  or  sane,"  said  Alwyn  cheer- 
fully. "I  shall  tell  you  truths  that  seem  like  romances, 
and  facts  that  sound  like  fables.  Moreover,  I  shall  have 
to  assure  you  that  miracles  do  happen  whenever  God 
chooses,  in  spite  of  all  human  denial  of  their  possibility. 
Do  you  remember  Whately's  clever  skit,  'Historical 
Doubts  of  Napoleon  I.,'  showing  how  easy  it  was  to  logi- 
cally prove  that  Napoleon  never  existed?  That  ought  to 
enlighten  people  as  to  the  very  precise  and  convincing 
manner  in  which  we  can,  if  we  choose,  argue  away  what 
is  nevertheless  an  incontestable  fact.  Thus  do  skeptics 
deny,  miracles — yet  we  live  surrounded  by  miracles.  Do 
you  think  me  crazed  for  saying  so?" 

Villiers  laughed.  "Crazed  !  No,  indeed !  I  wish  every 
man  in  London  were  as  sane  and  sound  as  you  are!" 

"Ah,  but  wait  till  to-night!"  and  Alwyn's  eyes  sparkled 
mirthfully.  "Perhaps  you  will  alter  your  opinion  then. " 
Here,  collecting  his  scattered  manuscripts,  he  put  them 
by.  "I've  done  work  for  the  present,"  he  said;  "shall 
we  go  for  a  walk  somewhere?" 

Villiers  assented,   and  they  left  the  room  together. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ONE   AGAINST  MANY. 

THE  beautiful  and  socially  popular  Duchesse  de  la 
Santoisie  sat  at  her  brilliantly  appointed  dinner-table, 
and  flashed  her  bright  eyes  comprehensively  around  the 
board.  Her  party  was  complete.  She  had  secured  twenty 
of  the  best-known  men  and  women  of  letters  in  all  Lon- 
don, and  yet  she  was  not  quite  satisfied. with  the  result 
attained.  One  dark,  splendid  face  on  her  right  hand  had 
taken  the  luster  out  of  all  the  rest.  One  quiet,  courte- 
ous smile,  on  a  mouth  haughty  yet  sweet,  had  somehow 
or  other  made  the  entertainment  of  little  worth  in  het 
own  estimation.  She  was  very  fair  to  look  upon,  very 
witty,  very  worldly-wise;  but  for  once  her  beauty  seemed 
to  herself  defective  and  powerless  to  charm,  while  the 


OXE   AGAINST   MANY  483 

graceful  cloak  of  social  hypocrisy  she  was  always  accus- 
tomed to  wear  would  not  adapt  itself  to  her  manner  to-; 
night  so  well  as  usual.  The  author  cf  "Nourhaima, " 
the  successful  poet,  whose  acquaintance  she  haa  very 
eagerly  sought  to  make,  was  not  at  all  the  kind  of  man 
she  had  expected  ;  and  now,  when  he  was  beside  her  as 
her  guest,  she  did  not  quite  know  what  to  do  with  him. 

She  had  met  plenty  of  poets,  so  called,  before,  and 
had  for  the  most  part  found  them  insignificant-looking 
men,  with  an  enormous  opinion  of  themselves  and  a 
suave,  condescending  contempt  for  all  others  of  their 
craft;  but  this  being— this  stately,  kingly  creature,  with 
the  noble  head  and  far-gazing,  luminous  eyes — this  man 
whose  every  gesture  was  graceful,  whose  demeanor  was 
more  royal  than  that  of  many  a  crowned  monarch,  whose 
voice  had  such  a  singular  soft  thrill  of  music  in  its  tone — 
he  was  a  personage  for  whom  she  had  not  been  pre- 
pared, and  in  whose  presence  she  felt  curiously  embar- 
rassed and  almost  ill  at  ease.  And  she  was  not  the 
only  one  present  who  experienced  these  odd  sensations. 
Ahvyn's  appearance,  when,  with  his  friend  Villiers,  he 
had  first  entered  the  duchess'  drawing-room  that  even- 
ing, and  had  there  been  introduced  to  his  hostess,  had 
been  a  sort  of  revelation  to  the  languid,  fashionable 
guests  assembled.  Sudden,  quick  whispers  were  ex- 
changed— surprised  glances.  How  unlike  he  was  to  the 
general  type  of  the  nervous,  fagged,  dyspeptic  "liter- 
ary man!" 

And  now  that  every  one  was  seated  at  dinner,  the 
same  impression  remained  on  all — an  impression  that 
was  to  some  disagreeable  and  humiliating,  and  that  could 
not  be  got  over — namely,  that  this  "poet,"  whom  in  a 
way  the  duchess  and  her  friends  had  intended  to  pat- 
ronize, was  distinctly  superior  to  them  all.  Nature,  as 
though  proud  of  her  handiwork,  proclaimed  him  as  such; 
while  he,  quite  unconscious  of  the  effect  he  produced, 
wondered  why  this  bevy  of  human  beings,  most  of  whom 
were  more  or  less  distinguished  in  the  world  of  art  and 
literature,  had  so  little  to  say  for  themselves.  Their 
conversation  was  banal,  tame,  ordinary.  They  might 
have  been  well-behaved,  elegantly  dressed  peasants,  for 
aught  they  said  of  wise,  cheerful,  or  witty.  The  weather, 
the  parks,  the  theaters,  the  newest  actress,  and  the  new- 


484  "ARDATH" 

est  remedies  for  indigestion — these  sorts  of  subjects  were 
bandied  about  from  one  to  the  other,  with  a  vaguely 
tame  persistence  that  was  really  irritating.  The  ques- 
tion of  remedies  for  indigestion  seemed  to  hold  ground 
longest,  owing  to  the  variety  of  opinions  expressed  there- 
on. 

The  duchess  grew  more  and  more  inwardly  vexed,  and 
her  little  foot  beat  an  impatient  tattoo  under  the  table, 
as  she  replied  with  careless  brevity  to  a  few  of  the  com- 
monplace observations  addressed  to  her, and  cast  an  occa- 
sional annoyed  glance  at  her  lord,  M.  le  Due,  a  thin, 
military-looking  individual, with  a  well-waxed  and  pointed 
mustache,  whose  countenance  suggested  an  admirably 
executed  mask.  It  was  a  face  that  said  absolutely  noth- 
ing ;  yet  beneath  its  cold  impassiveness  lurked  the  satyr- 
like,  complex,  half-civilized,  half-brutish  mind  of  the 
born  and  bred  Parisian — the  goblin-creature,  with  whom 
pure  virtues,  whether  in  man  or  woman,  are  no  more 
sacred  than  nuts  to  a  monkey.  The  suave  charm  of  a 
polished  civility  sat  on  M.  ie  Due's  smooth  brow  and 
beamed  in  his  urbane  smile;  his  manners  were  exquisite, 
his  courtesy  irreproachable,  his  whole  demeanor  that  of  a 
very  precise  and  elegant  master  of  deportment.  Yet, 
notwithstanding  his  calm  and  perfectly  self-possessed 
exterior,  he  was,  oddly  enough,  the  frequent  prey  of 
certain  extraordinary  an'd  ungovernable  passions;  there 
were  times  when  he  became  impossible  to  himself,  and 
when,  to  escape  from  his  own  horrible  thoughts,  he  would 
plunge  headlong  into  an  orgie  of  wild  riot  and  debauch- 
ery, such  as  might  have  made  the  hair  of  his  respectable 
English  acquaintances  stand  on  end  had  they  known  to 
what  an  extent  he  carried  his  excesses.  But  at  these 
seasons  of  moral  attack  he  "went  abroad  for  his  health," 
as  he  said,  delicately  touching  his  chest  in  order  to 
suggest  some  interesting  latent  weakness  there;  and  in 
these  migratory  excursions  his  wife  never  accompanied 
him,  nor  did  she  complain  of  his  absence.  When  he 
returned,  after  two  or  three  months,  he  looked  more  the 
"chevalier  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche"  than  ever;  and 
neither  he  nor  the  fair  partner  of  his  joys  and  sorrows 
ever  committed  such  a  breach  of  politeness  as  to  inquire 
into  each  other's  doings  during  the  time  of  their  separa- 
tion. So  they  jogged  on  together,  presenting  the  most 


ONE  AGAINST  MANY  485 

dalightful  outward  show  of  wedded  harmony  to  the  world; 
and  only  a  few  were  found  to  hazard  the  remark  that 
the  racy  novels  Madame  la  Duchesse  wrote  to  while  away 
her  duller  hours  were  singularly  "bitter"  in  tone,  for  a 
woman  whose  lot  in  life  was  so  extremely  enviable. 

On  this  particular  evening,  the  duke  affected  to  be 
utterly  unconscious  of  the  meaning  looks  his  beautiful 
spouse  shot  at  him  every  now  and  then — looks  which 
plainly  said,  "Why  don't  you  start  some  interesting  sub- 
ject of  conversation,  and  stop  these  people  from  talking 
such  every-day  twaddle?"  He  was  a  clever  man  in  his 
way,  and  his  present  mood  was  malign  and  mischievous; 
therefore  he  went  on  eating  daintily,  and  discussing  mild 
platitudes  in  the  most  languidly  amiable  manner  imag- 
inable, enjoying  to  the  full  the  mental  confusion  and 
discomfort  of  his  guests — confusion  and  discomfort 
which,  as  he  very  well  knew,  was  the  psychological  re- 
sult of  their  having  one  in  their  midst  whose  life  and 
character  were  totally  opposite  to,  and  distinctly  sepa- 
rate from,  their  own.  As  Emerson  truly  says,  "Let  the 
world  beware  when  a  thinker  comes  into  it!"  And  here 
was  this  thinker — this  type  of  the  God-like  in  man,  this 
uncomfortably  sincere  personage,  whose  eyes  were  clear 
of  falsehood,  whose  genius  was  incontestable,  whose 
fame  had  taken  society  by  assault,  and  who  therefore 
was  entitled  to  receive  every  attention  and  consider- 
ation. 

Everybody  had  desired  to  see  him,  and  here  he  was — 
the  great  man,  the  new  "celebrity;"  and  now  that  he  was 
actually  present,  no  one  knew  what  to  say  to  him. 
Moreover,  there  was  a  very  general  tendency  in  the  com- 
pany to  avoid  his  direct  gaze.  People  fidgeted  on  their 
chairs  and  looked  aside  or  downward  whenever  his  glance 
accidentally  fell  on  them;  and  to  the  analytical,  Voltai- 
rean  mind  of  M.  le  Due  there  was  something  grimly 
humorous  in  the  whole  situation.  He  was  a  great  ad- 
mirer of  physical  strength  and  beauty,  and  Alwyn's  noble 
face  and  fine  figure  had  won  his  respect,  though  of  the 
genius  of  the  poet  he  knew  nothing  and  cared  less.  It  was 
enough  for  all  the  purposes  of  social  usage  that  the  au- 
thor of  "Nourhalma"  was  considered  illustrious — no 
matter  whether  he  deserved  the  appellation  or  not.  And 
so  the  duke,  satirically  amused  at  the  obvious  embarrass- 


486  "ARDATH" 

ment  of  the  other  "notabilities"  assembled,  did  nothing 
whatsoever  to  relieve  or  to  lighten  the  conversation,  which 
remained  so  utterly  dull  and  inane  that  Alwyn,  who  had 
been  -compelled,  for  politeness'  sake,  to  appear  interested 
in  the  account  of  a  bicycle  race  detailed  to  him  by  a  very 
masculine-looking  lady  doctor,  whose  seat  at  tab.s  was 
next  his  own,  began  to  feel  a  little  weary,  and  to  won- 
der dismally  how  long  this  "feast  of  reason  and  flow  of 
soul"  was  going  to  last. 

Villiers,  too,  whose  easy,  good  natured  and  clever  talk 
generally  gave  some  sparkle  and  animation  to  the  drear- 
iest social  gathering,  was  to-night  unusually  taciturn. 
He  was  bored  by  his  partner,  a  middle-aged  woman  with 
a  mania  for  philology,  and  moreover  his  thoughts,  like 
those  of  most  of  the  persons  present,  were  centered  on 
Alwyn,  whom  every  now  and  then  he  regarded  with  a 
certain  wistful  wonder  and  reverence.  He  had  heard  the 
whole  story  of  the  "Field  of  Ardath, "  and  he  knew  not 
how  much  to  accept  of  it  as  true,  or  how  much  to  set 
down  to  his  friend's  ardent  imagination.  He  had  come 
to  a  fairly  logical  explanation  of  the  whole  matter,namely, 
that  as  the  City  of  Al-Kyris  had  been  proved  a  dream, 
so  surely  the  visit  of  the  angel-maiden  Edris  must  have 
been  a  dream  likewise — that  the  trance  at  the  Monastery 
of  Dariel,  followed  by  the  constant  reading  of  the  pass- 
ages from  Esdras  and  the  treatise  of  Algazzali,  had 
produced  a  vivid  impression  on  Alwyn's  susceptible 
brain,  which  had  resolved  itself  into  the  visionary  re- 
sult narrated. 

He  found  in  this  the  most  practical  and  probable  view 
of  what  must  otherwise  be  deemed  by  mortal  minds  in- 
credible; and,  being  a  frank  and  honest  fellow,  he  had 
not  scrupled  to  openly  tell  his  friend  what  he  thought. 
Alwyn  had  received  his  remarks  with  the  most  perfect 
sweetness  and  equanimity,  but,  all  the  same,  had  re- 
mained unchanged  in  his  opinion  as  to  the  reality  of  his 
betrothal  to  his  angel-love  in  heaven.  And  one  or  two 
points  had  certainly  baffled  Villiers,  and  perplexed  him 
in  his  would-be  precise  analysis  of  the  circumstances. 
First,  there  was  the  remarkable  change  in  Alwyn's  own 
nature.  From  an  embittered,  sarcastic,  disappointed, 
violently  ambitious  man  he  had  become  softened,  gra- 
cious, kindly — -showing  the  greatest  tenderness  and  fore- 


ONE  AGAINST  MANY  487 

thought  for  others,  even  in  small  every-day  trifles,  while 
for  himself  he  took  no  care.  He  wore  his  fame  as  lightly 
as  a  child  might  wear  a  flower  just  plucked  and  soon  to 
fade.  His  intelligence  seemed  to  expand  itself  into  a 
broad,  loving,  sympathetic  comprehension  of  the  wants 
and  afflictions  of  humankind;  and  he  was  writing  a  new 
poem,  of  which  Villiers  had  seen  some  lines,  that  had 
fairly  amazed  him  by  their  grandeur  of  conception  and 
clear  passion  of  utterance.  Thus  it  was  evident  there 
was  no  morbidness  in  him — no  obscurity,  nothing  eccen- 
tric, nothing  that  removed  him  in  any  way  from  his  fel- 
lows, except — except  that  royal  personality  of  his — that 
strong,  beautiful,  well-balanced  spirit  in  him,  which  ex- 
ercised such  a  bewildering  spell  on  all  who  came  within 
its  influence.  He  believed  himself  loved  by  an  angel. 
Well,  if  there  were  angels,  why  not?  Villiers  argued 
the  proposition  thus: 

"Whether  we  are  Christians,  Jews,  Buddhists,  or  Ma- 
hometans, we  are  supposed  to  accept  angels  as  forming 
part  of  the  system  of  our  faith.  If  we  are  nothing,  then 
of  course  we  believe  in  nothing.  But  granted  we  are 
something,  then  we  are  bound  in  honor,  if  consistent, 
to  acknowledge  that  angels  help  to  guide  our  destinies. 
And  if,  as  we  are  assured  by  Holy  Writ,  such  loftier 
beings  do  exist,  why  should  they  not  communicate  with, 
and  even  love,  human  creatures,  provided  those  human 
creatures  are  worthy  of  their  tenderness?  Certainly, 
viewed  by  all  the  chief  religions  of  the  world,  there  is 
nothing  new  or  outrageous  in  the  idea  of  an  angel  de- 
scending to  the  help  of  man." 

Such  thoughts  as  these  were  in  his  mind  now,  as  he 
ever  and  anon  glanced  across  the  glittering  table,  with 
its  profusion  of  lights  and  flowers,  to  where  his  poet 
friend  sat  slightly  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with  a  cer- 
tain half-perplexed,  half-disappointed  expression  on  his 
handsome  features,  though  his  eyes  brightened  into  a 
smile  as  he  caught  Villiers'  look,  and  he  gave  the  small- 
est, scarcely  perceptible  shrug,  as  who  should  say,  "Is 
this  your  brilliant  duchess — your  witty  and  cultured  so- 
ciety?" 

Villiers  flashed  back    an    amused,  responsive    glance 
and  then  conscientiously  strove  to  pay  more  attention  to 
the  irrepressible  feminine  philologist  beside  him,  deter- 


488  "ARDATH" 

mining  to  take  her,  as  he  said  to  himself,  by  way  of 
penance  for  his  unremembered  sins.  After  a  while  there 
came  one  of  those  extraordinary  sudden  rushes  of  gabble 
that  often  occur  at  even  the  stiffest  dinner-party— a  gal- 
loping race  of  tongues,  in  which  nothing  really  distinct 
is  heard,  but  in  which  each  talks  to  the  other  as  though 
moved  by  an  impulse  of  sheer  desperation.  This  burst  of 
noise  was  a  relief  after  the  strained  murmurs  of  trite 
commonplaces  that  had  hitherto  been  the  order  of  the 
hour,  and  the  fair  duchess,  somewhat  easier  in  her  mind, 
turned  anew  to  Alwyn,  with  greater  grace  and  gentleness 
of  manner  than  she  had  yet  shown. 

"I  am  afraid,"  she  said  smilingly,  "you  must  find  us 
all  very  stupid  after  your  travels  abroad?  In  England 
we  are  dull;  our  tristesse  cannot  be  denied.  But  really, 
the  climate  is  responsible;  we  want  more  sunshine.  I 
suppose  in.  the  East,  where  the  sun  is  so  warm  and 
bright,  the  people  are  always  cheerful?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  have  found  them  rather  serious 
and  contemplative  than  otherwise,"  returned  Alwyn; 
"yet  their  gravity  is  certainly  of  a  pleasant,  and  not 
of  a  forbidding,  type.  I  don't  myself  think  the  sun  has 
much  to  do  with  the  disposition  of  man,  after  all.  I 
fancy  his  temperament  is  chiefly  moulded  by  the  life  he 
leads.  In  the  East,  for  instance,  men  accept  their  ex- 
istence as  a  sort  of  divine  command,  which  they  obey 
cheerfully,  yet  with  a  consciousness  of  high  responsibil- 
ity. On  the  continent  they  take  it  as  ^bagatelle — lightly 
won,  lightly  lost;  hence  their  indifferent,  almost  child- 
ish gayety.  But  in  Great  Britain" — and  he  smiled — "it 
looks  nowadays  as  if  it  were  viewed  very  generally  as  a 
personal  injury  and  bore— a  kind  of  title  bestowed  with- 
'out  the  necessary  money  to  keep  it  up.  And  this  money 
people  set  themselves  steadily  to  obtain,  with  many  a 
weary  grunt  and  groan,  while  they  are  for  the  most  part 
forgetful  of  anything  else  life  may  have  to  offer." 

"But  what  is  life  without  plenty  of  money?"  inquired 
the  duchess  carelessly;  "surely  not  worth  the  trouble  of 
living!" 

Alwyn  looked  at  her  steadily,  and  a  swift  flush  colored 
her  smooth  cheek.  She  toyed  with  the  magnificent  dia- 
mond spray  at  her  breast,  and  wondered  what  strange 
spell  was  in  this  man's  brilliant  gray-black  eyes.  Did 


ONE  AGAINST  MANY  489 

he  guess  that  she,  even  she,  had  sold  herself  to  the  Due 
de  la  Santoisie  for  the  sake  of  his  money  and  title,  as 
easily  and  unresistingly  as  though  she  were  a  mere 
purchasable  animal? 

"That  is  an  argument  I  would  rather  not  enter  into," 
he  said  gently.  "It  would  lead  us  too  far.  But  I  am 
convincedithat  whether  dire  poverty  or  great  riches  be 
our  portion,  life,  considered  apart  from  its  worldly  ap- 
pendages, is  always  worth  living,  if  lived  well." 

"Pray,  how  can  you  separate  life  from  its  worldly 
appendages?"  inquired  a  satirical-looking  gentleman 
opposite.  "Life  is  the  world,  and  the  things  of  the 
world.  When  we  lose  sight  of  the  world  we  lose  our- 
selves; in  short,  we  die;  and  the  world  is  at  an  end 
and  we  with  it.  That's  plain,  practical  philosophy." 

"Possibly  it  may  be  called  philosophy,"  returned 
Alwyn.  "It  is  not  Christianity." 

"Oh,  Christianity!"  and  the  gentleman  gave  a  porten- 
tous sniff  of  contempt.  "That  is  a  system  of  faith  that 
is  rapidly  dying  out — fast  falling  into  contempt.  In 
fact,  with  the  scientific  and  cultured  classes,  it  is  al- 
ready an  exploded  doctrine." 

"Indeed!"  Alwyn's  glance  swept  over  him  with  a 
faint,  cold  scorn,  "and  what  religion  do  the  scientific 
and  cultured  classes  propose  to  invent  as  a  substitute?" 

"There's  no  necessity  for  any  substitute,"  said  the  gen- 
tleman, rather  impatiently.  "For  those  who  want  to 
believe  in  something  supernatural  there  are  plenty  of 
different  ideas  afloat — esoteric  Buddhism,  for  example, 
and  what  is  called  scientific  religion  and  natural  relig- 
ion. Any  or  all  of  these  are  sufficient  to  gratify  the 
imaginative  cravings  of  the  majority,  till  they  have  been 
educated  out  of  the  imagination  altogether;  but  for  ad- 
vanced thinkers  religion  is  really  not  required  at  all.'"1 

"Nay,  I  think  we  must  worship  something,"  retorted 
Alwyn,  a  fine  .satire  in  his  rich  voice,  "if  it  be  only  self! 
Self  is  an  excellent  deity — accommodating,  and  always 
ready  to  excuse  sin.  Why  should  we  not  build  temples, 
raise  altars,  and  institute  services  to  the  glory  and  honor 

*Tbe  world  is  indebted  to  Mr.  Andrew  Lan^  for  the  newest  "logical" 
explanation  of  the  religious  instinct  in  man:  namelv.  that  the  very  idea 
of  God  first  arose  from  th«  terror  ;.nd  ;:iii.izemet>t  of  r;n  ;uv  ,-t  the  pound 
of  the  thunder!  So  choice  and.  soul-moving  a  definition  of  Deity  reeds 
po  comment! 


49°  "ARDATH" 

of  self?  Perhaps  the  time  is  ripe  for  a  public  procla- 
mation of  this  creed.  It  will  be  easily  propagated,  for 
the  beginnings  of  it  are  in  the  heart  of  every  man,  and 
need  very  little  fostering." 

His  thrilling  tone,  together  with    the  calm,    half-iron- 
ical persuasiveness  of  his  manner,    sent  a    sudden    hush 

down  the  table.   Every  one  turned  eagerly  toward  him 

some  amused,  some  wondering,  some  admiring ;  while 
Viliiers  felt  his  heart  beating  with  uncomfortable  quick- 
ness. He  hated  religious  discussions,  and  always  avoided 
them  ;  and  now  here  was  Alwyn  beginning  one,  and  he 
the  center  of  a  company  of  persons  who  were  for  the 
most  part  avowed  agnostics,  to  whose  opinions  his  must 
necessarily  be  in  direct  and  absolute  opposition!  At  the 
same  time,  he  remembered  that  those  who  were  sure  of 
their  faith  never  lost  their  temper  about  it;  and  as  he 
glanced  at  his  friend's  perfectly  serene  and  coldly-smil- 
ing countenance,  he  saw  there  was  no  danger  of  his  let- 
ting slip,  even  for  a  moment,  his  admirable  power  of 
self-command.  The  Due  de  la  Santoisie,  meanwhile, 
settling  his  mustache  and,  gracefully  waving  one  hand, 
on  which  sparkled  a  large  diamond  ring,  bent  forward 
a  little,  with  a  courteous,  deprecatory  gesture. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  in  soft,  purring  accents,  "that  my 
friend  Dr.  Mudley" — here  he  bowed  toward  the  satur- 
nine-looking individual  who  had  entered  into  conversation 
with  Alwyn — "takes  a  very  proper,  and  indeed  a  very 
lofty,  view  of  the  whole  question.  The  moral  sense"  — 
and  he  laid  a  severely  weighty  emphasis  on  these  words — 
"the  moral  sense  of  each  man,  if  properly  trained,  is 
quite  sufficient  to  guide  him  through  existence,  without 
any  such  weakness  as  reliance  on  a  merely  imaginary 
deity. " 

The  duke's  French  way  of  speaking  English  was 
charming.  He  gave  an  expressive  roll  to  his  r's,  espe- 
cially when  he  said  "the  moral  sense, "  that  of  itself  almost 
carried  conviction.  His  wife  smiled  as  she  heard  him, 
and  her  smile  was  not  altogether  pleasant.  Perhaps  she 
wondered  by  what  criterion  of  excellence  he  measured 
his  own  "moral  sense,"  or  whether,  despite  his  educa- 
tion and  culture,  he  had  any  "moral  sense"  at  all,  higher 
than  that  of  the  pig  who  eats  to  be  eaten.  But  Alwyn 
spoke,  and  she  listened  intently,  finding  a  singular  fas- 


ONE  AGAINST  MANY  49 1 

cination  in  the  soft  and  quiet  modulation  of  his  voice, 
which  gave  a  vaguely  delicious  suggestion  of  music  un- 
derlying speech. 

"To  guide  people  by  their  moral  sense  alone,"  he  said, 
"you  must  first  prove    plainly    to    them    that    the    moral 
sense  exists,    together    with  moral    responsibility.     You 
will  find  this  ditficult,  as  the  virtue  implied    is    intangi- 
ble, unseeable.     One  cannot  say  of  it,  Lo,    here!  or  Lo, 
there!     It  is  as  complicated  and  subtle    as    any  other  of 
the  manifestations  of  pure  spirit.      Then    you    must   de 
cide  on    one    universal    standard  or    reasonable    concep 
tion  of  what     'morality'   is.      Again,    you    are    met    by  a 
crowd  of  perplexities,  as  every  nation,   and  every    tribe, 
has  a  totally  different  idea  of  the  same  thing.     In    seme 
countries  it  is   'moral'   to  have    many  wives;   in    others, 
to  drown  female  children;    in  others,   to    solemnly    roast 
one's    grand-parents    for    dinner.      Supposing,    however, 
that  you  succeed,  with  the  aid  of    all  the    philosophers, 
teachers,  and  scientists,  in  drawing  up  a  practical    code 
of  morality,  do  you  not  think  an   enormous  majority  will 
be  found  to  ask  you    by  whose    authority  you    set  forth 
this  code,  and  by  what  right    you  deem    it    necessary  to 
enforce  it?     You  may  say   'By  the    authority    of    knowl- 
edge and  by  the  right  of  morality,'   but  since  you  admit 
to  there  being  no  spiritual  or  divine  inspiration  for  your 
law,  you  will  be  confronted  by    a    legion    of    opponents 
who  will  assure  you,  and  probably  with    perfect  justice, 
that  their  idea  of  morality  is  as  good  as  yours,  and  their 
knowledge  as  excellent — that  your  code  appears  to  them 
faulty  in  many  respects,  and  that  therefore  they  purpose 
making  another  one  more  suited  to  their    liking.     Thus, 
out  of  your  one  famous  moral  system  would  spring  thou- 
sands of  others,  formed  to  gratify    the    various  tastes  of 
different  individuals,  precisely  in    the    same    manner    as 
sects  have  sprung    out    of    the    wholly    unnecessary  and 
foolish  human  arguments  on  Christianity — only  that  there 
would  lack  the    one    indestructible,  pure,  selfless    exam- 
ple, that  even  the  most  quarrelsome  bigot  must  inwardly 
respect — namely,  Christ  himself.      And  'morality'   would 
remain  exactly  where  it  is — neither  better  nor  worse  for 
all  the  trouble  taken  concerning  it.     It  needs  something 
more  than  the   'moral'  sense  to  rightly  ennoble    man;    it 
needs  the  spiritual  sense,  the    fostering    of    the    instinc- 


"ARDATH*' 

live  immortal  aspiration  of  the  creature,  to  make  him  com- 
prehend the  responsibility  of  his  present  life  as  a  prepa« 
ration  for  his  higher  and  better  destiny.  The  cultured, 
the  scholarly,  the  ultra-refined  may  live  well  and  up- 
rightly by  their  'moral  sense,'  if  they  so  choose,  pro- 
vided they  have  some  great  ideal  to  measure  themselves 
by;  but  even  these,  without  faith  in  God,  ma)'  some- 
times slip,  and  fall  into  deeper  depths  of  ruin  than  they 
dreamed  of,  when  self-centered  on  those  heights  of  vir- 
tue where  they  fancied  themselves  exempt  f rom  danger. " 

He  paused.  There  was  a  curious  stillness  in  the  room; 
many  eyes  were  lowered,  and  M.  le  Due's  composure 
was  evidently  not  quite  so  absolute  as  usual. 

"Taken  at  its  best,"  he  continued,  "the  world  alone  is 
certainly  not  worth  righting  for.  We  see  the  fact  exem- 
plified every  day  in  the  cases  of  those  who,  surrounded 
by  all  that  a  fair  fortune  can  bestow  upon  them,  delib- 
erately hurl  themselves  out  of  existence  by  their  own 
free  will  and  act.  Indeed,  suicide  is  a  very  general  ac- 
companiment of  agnosticism.  And  self-slaughter,  though 
it  may  be  called  madness,  is  far  more  often  the  result 
of  'intellectual  misery."' 

"Of  course  too  much  learning  breeds  brain-disease," 
remarked  Dr.  Mudley  sententiously,  "but  only  in  weak 
subjects;  and  in  my  opinion  the  weak  are  better  out  of 
the  world.  We've  no  room  for  them  nowadays." 

"You  say  truly,  sir,"  replied  Alwyn.  "We  have  no 
room  for  them,  and  no  patience.  They  show  themselves 
feeble,  and  forthwith  the  strong  oppress  them;  they  can 
hope  for  little  comfort  here,  and  less  help.  It  is  well, 
therefore,  that  some  of  these  'weak'  should  still  believe 
in  God,  since  they  can  certainly  pin  no  faith  on  the 
justice  of  their  fellow-man.  But  I  cannot  agree  with 
you  that  much  learning  breeds  brain-disease.  Provided 
the  learning  be  accompanied  by  a  belief  in  the  Supreme 
Wisdom,  provided  every  step  of  study  be  taken  upward 
toward  that  Source  of  all  knowledge,  one  cannot  learn 
too  much  ;  since  hope  increases  with  discernment,  and 
on  such  food  the  brain  grows  stronger,  healthier,  and 
more  capable  of  high  efforts.  But  dispense  with  the 
Spirit  of  the  whole,  and  every  movement,  though  it  seem 
forward,  is  in  truth  backward.  Study  involves  bewilder- 
ment, science  becomes  a  reeling  infinitude  of  atoms,  . 


ONE  AGAINST  MANY  493 

ruadly  whirling  together  for  no  purpose  save  death,  or, 
;tt  the  best,  incessant  change,  in  which  mortal  life  is 
counted  as  nothing;  and  nature  frowns  at  us,  a  vast  ques- 
tion to  which  there  is  no  answer — an  incomprehensible 
force  against  which  wretched  man,  gifted  with  all  man- 
ner of  splendid  and  God  like  capacities,  battles  forever 
and  forever  in  vain.  This  is  the  terrible  material  lesson 
you  would,  have  us  learn  to-day,  the  lesson  that  maddens 
pupil  and  teacher  alike,  and  has  not  a  glimmer  of  con- 
solation to  offer  to  any  living  soul.  What  a  howling 
wilderness  this  world  would  be  if  given  over  entirely  to 
materialism!  Scarce  a  line  of  division  could  be  drawn 
between  men  and  the  brute  beasts  of  the  field!  I  con- 
sider, though  possibly  I  am  only  one  among  many  of 
widely  differing  opinion,  that  if  you  take  the  hope  of  an 
after- joy  and  blessedness  away  from  the  weary, perpetually 
toiling  million,  you  destroy  at  one  wanton  blow  their 
best,  purest,  and  noblest  aspirations.  As  for  the  Chris- 
tian religion,  I  cannot  believe  that  so  grand  and  holy  a 
symbol  is  perishing  among  us.  We  have  a  monarch  whose 
title  is  'Defender  of  the  Faith.'  We  live  in  an  age  of 
civilization  which  is  primarily  the  result  of  that  faith; 
and  if,  as  this  gentleman  assures  me" — and  he  made  a 
slight  courteous  inclination  toward  his  opposite  neigh- 
bor—  "Christianity  is  exploded,  then  certainly  the  great- 
ness of  this  hitherto  great  nation  is  exploding  with  it. 
But  I  do  not  think  that  because  a  few  skeptics  uplift 
their  wailing  'All  is  vanity'  from  their  self-created  des- 
ert of  agnosticism,  therefore  the  majority  of  men  and 
women  are  turning  renegades  from  the  simplest,  most 
humane,  most  unselfish  creed  that  ever  the  world  has 
known.  It  may  be  so,  but  at  present  I  prefer  to  trust 
in  the  higher  spiritual  instincts  of  man  at  his  best, 
rather  than  accept  the  testimony  of  the  lesser  unbeliev- 
ing against  the  greater  many  whose  strength,  comfort, 
patience,  and  endurance,  if  these  virtues  come  not  from 
God,  come  not  at  all." 

His  forcible,  incisive  manner  of  speaking,  together 
with  his  perfect  equanimity  and  concise  clearness  of  ar- 
gument, had  an  evident  effect  on  those  who  listened. 
Here  was  no  rampant  fanatic  for  particular  forms  of  doc- 
trine or  pietism.  Here  was  a  man  who  stated  his  opin- 
ions calmly,  frankly,  and  with  an  absolute  setting-forth 


494  "ARDATH" 

of  facts  which  could  scarcely  be  denied — a  man  who, 
firmly  grounded  himself,  made  no  attempt  to  force  any 
one's  belief,  but  who  simply  took  a  large  view  of  the 
whole,  and  saw  as  it  were,  in  a  glance,  what  the  world 
might  become  without  faith  in  a  divine  cause  and  princi- 
ple of  creation  And  once  grant  this  divine  cause  and 
principle  to  be  actually  existent,  then  all  other  divine  and 
spiritual  things  become  possible,  no  matter  how  impos- 
sible they  seem  to  dull  mortal  comprehension. 

A  brief  pause  followed  his  words — a  pause  of  vague 
embarrassment.  The  duchess  was  the  first  to  break  it. 

"You  have  very  noble  ideas,  Mr.  Alwyn, "  she  said, 
with  a  faint,  wavering  smile,  "but  I  am  afraid  your  con- 
ception of  things,  both  human  and  divine,  is  too  exalted 
and  poetically  imaginative  to  be  applied  to  our  every- 
day life.  We  cannot  close  our  ears  to  the  thunders  of 
science  ;  we  cannot  fail  to  perceive  that  we  mortals  are 
of  as  small  account  in  the  plan  of  the  universe  as  grains 
of  sand  on  the  sea-shore.  It  is  very  sad  that  so  it  should 
be,  and  yet  so  it  is.  And  concerning  Christianity,  the 
poor  system  has  been  so  belabored  of  late  with  hard 
blows  that  it  is  almost  a  wonder  it  still  breathes.  There 
is  no  end  to  the  books  that  have  been  written  disprov- 
ing and  denouncing  it ;  moreover,  we  have  had  the  sub- 
ject recently  treated  in  a  novel  which  excites  our  sym- 
pathies in  behalf  of  a  clergyman,  who,  overwhelmed  by 
scholarship,  finds  he  can  no  longer  believe  in.  the  relig- 
ion he  is  required  to  teach,  and  who  renounces  his  liv- 
ing in  consequence.  The  story  is  in  parts  pathetic.  It 
has  had  a  large  circulation,  and  numbers  of  people  who 
never  doubted  their  creed  before  certainly  doubt  it  now." 

Alwyn  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Faith  uprooted  by  a 
novel!"  he  said.  "Alas,  poor  faith!  It  could  never 
have  been  well-established  at  any  time,  to  be  so  easy 
of  destruction!  No  book  in  the  world,  whether  of  fact  or 
fiction,  could  persuade  me  either  to  or  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  what  my  own  individual  spirit  instinc- 
tively knows.  Faith  cannot  be  taught  or  forced;  neither, 
if  true,  can  it  be  really  destroyed.  It  is  a  God-born, 
God-fostered  intuition,  immortal  as  God  himself.  The 
ephemeral  theories  set  forth  in  books  should  not  be  able 
to  influence  it  by  so  much  as  a  hair's-breadth. " 

"Truth  is,  however,  often  conveyed  through  the  medi- 


ONE  AGAINST  MANY  495 

um  of  fiction,"  observed  Dr.  Mudley;  "and  the  novel 
alluded  to  was  calculated  to  disturb  the  mind  and  arouse 
trouble  in  the  heart  of  many  an  ardent  believer.  It 
was  written  by  a  woman." 

"Nay,  then,"  said  Alwyn  quickly,  with  a  darkening 
flash  in  his  eyes;  "if  women  give  up  faith,  let  the  world 
prepare  for  strange  disaster!  Good,  God-loving  women — 
women  who  pray,  women  who  hope,  women  who  inspire 
men  to  do  the  best  that  is  in  them — these  are  the  safety 
and  glory  of  nations.  When  women  forget  to  kneel, 
when  women  cease  to  teach  their  children  the  'Our 
Father,'  by  whose  grandly  simple  plea  humanity  claims 
divinity  as  its  origin,  then  shall  we  learn  what  is  meant 
by  'men's  hearts  failing  them  for  fear  and  for  looking 
after  those  things  which  are  coming  on  the  earth.'  A 
woman  who  denies  Christ  repudiates. him-  who  above  all 
others  made  her  sex  as  free  and  honored  as  everywhere 
in  Christendom  it  'is.  He  never  refused  woman's  prayer. 
He  had  patience  for  her  weakness,  pardon  for  her  sins; 
and  any  book  written  by  woman's  hand  that  does  him 
the  smallest  shadow  of  wrong  is  to  me  as  gross  a,n  act 
as  that  of  one  who,  loaded  with  benefits,  scruples  not  to 
murder  his  benefactor." 

The  Duchesse  de  la  Santoisie  moved  uneasily.  There 
was  a  vibration  in  Alwyn's  voice  that  went  to  her  very 
heart.  Strange  thoughts  swept  cloud-like  across  her  mind. 
Again  she  saw  in  fancy  a  little  fair  dead  child  that  she 
had  loved — her  only  one,  on  whom  she  had  spent  all  the 
tenderness  of  which  her  nature  was  capable.  It  had  died 
at  the  prettiest  age  of  children — the  age  of  lisping  speech 
and  softly  tottering  feet,  when  a  journey  from  the  protect- 
ing background  of  a  wall  to  outstretched  maternal  arms 
seems  fraught  with  dire  peril  to  the  tiny  adventurer, 
and  is  only  undertaken  with  the  help  of  much  coaxing, 
sweet  laughter,  and  still  sweeter  kisses.  She  remembered 
how,  in  spite  of  her  "free"  opinion,  she  had  found  it  im- 
possible not  to  teach  her  little  one  a  prayer;  and  a  sud- 
den mist  of  tears  blurred  her  sight  as  she  recollected  the 
child's  last  words — words  uttered  plaintively  in  the  death- 
grasp  of  a  cruel  fever — "Suffer  me — to  come  to  thee!" 
A  quick  sigh  escaped  her  lips;  the  diamonds  on  her 
breast  heaved  restlessly.  Lifting  her  eyes,  grown  soft 
with  gentle  memory,  she  encountered  *hose  of  Alwyn; 


496  "ARDATH" 

and  again  she  asked  herself,  could  he  read  her  thoughts? 
His  steadfast  gaze  seemed  to  encompass  her,  and  absorb 
in  a  grave,  compassionate  earnestness  the  entire  com- 
prehension of  her  life.  Her  husband's  polite,  mellifluous 
accents  roused  her  from  this  half-reverie. 

"I  confess  I  am  surprised,  Mr.  Alwyn,"  he  was  saying, 
"that  you,  a  man  of  such  genius  and  ability,  should  be 
still  in  the  leading-strings  of  the  church." 

"There  is  no  church,"  returned  Alwyn  quietly.  "The 
world  is  waiting  for  one.  The  Alpha  Beta  of  Christian- 
ity has  been  learned  and  recited  more  or  less  badly  by 
the  children  of  men  for  nearly  two  thousand  years;  rhe 
actual  grammar  and  meaning  of  the  whole  language  has 
yet  to  be  deciphered.  There  have  been,  and  are,  what 
are  called  churches — one  especially  which,  if  it  would 
bravely  discard  me're  vulgar  superstition,  and  accept, 
absorb,  and  use  the  discoveries  of  science  instead,  might, 
and  possibly  will,  blossom  into  the  true,  universal,  and 
pure  Christian  fabric.  Meanwhile,  in  the  shaking  to 
and  fro  of  things,  the  troublous  sifting  of  the  wheat 
from  the  chaff,  we  must  be  content  to  follow  by  the  way 
of  the  Cross  as  best  we  can.  Christianity  has  fallen 
into  disrepute,  probably  because  of  the  self-renunciation 
it  demands;  for  in  this  age  the  primal  object  of  each 
individual  is  manifestly  to  serve  self  only.  It  is  a  wrong 
road,  a  side-lane  that  leads  nowhere;  and  we  shall  inev- 
itably have  to  turn  back  upon  it  and  recover  the  right 
path — if  not  now,  why  then  hereafter." 

His  voice  had  a  tremor  of  pain  within  it.  He  was 
thinking  of  the  millions  of  men  and  women  who  were  vol- 
untarily wandering  astray  into  a  darkness  they  did  not 
dream  of;  and  his  heart,  the  great,  true  heart  of  the 
poet,  became  filled  with  an  indescribable  passion  of 
yearning. 

"No  wonder,"  he  mused,  "no  wonder  that  Christ  came 
hither  for  the  sake  of  love! — to  rescue, to  redeem,  to  save, 
to  bless!  O  divine  sympathy  for  sorrow!  If  I,  a  man,  can 
feel  such  aching  pity  for  the  woes  of  others,  how  vast, 
how  limitless,  how  tender  must  be  the  pity  of  God!' 

And  his  eyes  softened — he  almost  forgot  his  surround- 
ings. He  was  entirely  unaware  of  the  various  deep  and 
wistful  emotions  he  had  wakened  in  the  hearts  of  his 
hearers.  There  was  a  great  attractiveness  in  him  that 


ONE   AGAINST   MANY  497 

he  was  not  conscious  of ;  and  while  all  present  certainly 
felt  that  he,  though  among  them,  was  not  of  them,  they 
were  at  the  same  time  curiously  moved  by  an  impression 
that  notwithstanding  his  being,  as  it  were,  set  apart 
from  their  ways  of  existence,  his  sympathetic  influence 
surrounded  them  as  resistlessly  as  a  pure  atmosphere 
in  which  they  drew  long,  refreshing  breaths  of  healthier 
life. 

"I  should  like,"  suddenly  said  a  bearded  individual 
who  was  seated  half-way  down  the  table,  and  who  had 
listened  attentively  to  everything — "I  should  like  to  tell 
you  a  few  things  about  esoteric  Buddhism.  I  am  sure 
it  is  a  faith  that  would  suit  you  admirably." 

Alwyn  smiled,  courteously  enough.  "I  shall  be  happy 
to  hear  your  views  on  the  subject,  sir,"  he  answered 
gently;  "but  I  must  tell  you  that  before  I  left  England 
for  the  East  I  had  studied  that  theory,  together  with 
many  others  that  were  offered  as  substitutes  for  Chris- 
tianity; and  I  found  it  totally  inadequate  to  meet  the 
highest  demands  of  the  spiritual  intelligence.  I  may 
also  add  that  I  have  read  carefully  all  the  principal  works 
against  religion,  from  the  treatises  of  the  earliest  skep- 
tics down  to  Voltaire  and  others  of  our  own  day.  More- 
over, I  had,  not  so  very  lonf  ago,  rejected  the  Christian 
faith.  That  I  now  accept  and  adhere  to  it  is  not  the 
result  of  my  merit  or  attainment,  but  simply  the  outcome 
of  an  undeserved  blessing  and  singularly  happy  fortune." 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Alwyn,"  said  Madame  de  la  San- 
toisie,  with  a  sweet  smile  ;  "by  all  the  laws  of  nature  I 
must  contradict  you  there.  Your  fame  and  fortune  must 
needs  be  the  reward  of  merit;  since  true  happiness  never 
comes  to  the  undeserving." 

Alwyn  made  no  reply,  inasmuch  as  to  repudiate  the 
idea  of  personal  merit  too  warmly  is,  as  such  matters 
are  judged  nowadays,  suggestive  of  more  conceit  than 
modesty.  He  skillfully  changed  the  conversation,  and  it 
glided  off  by  degrees  into  various  other  channels— music, 
art,  science,  and  the  political  situation  of  the  hour.  The 
men  and  women  assembled,  as  though  stimulated  and 
inspired  by  some  new  interest,  now  strove  to  appear  at 
their  very  best,  and  the  friction  of  intellect  with  intel- 
lect resulted  in  more  or  less  brilliancy  of  talk,  which  for 
once  was  totally  free  from  the  flippant  and 


498  "ARDATH" 

spirit  which  usually  pervaded  the  Santoisie  social  circle. 
On  all  the  subjects  that  came  up  for  discussion  Alwyn 
proved  himself  thoroughly  at  home,  and  M.  le  Due,  sit- 
ting in  a  silence  that  was  most  unwonted  with  him,  be- 
came filled  with  amazement  to  think  that  this  man,  so 
full  of  fine  qualities  and  intellectual  abilities,  should 
be  actually  a  Christian!  The  thing  was  quite  incongruous, 
or  seemed  so  to  the  ironical  wit  of  the  born  and  bred 
Parisian.  He  tried  to  consider  it  absurd,  even  laugh- 
able, but  his  efforts  merely  resulted  in  a  sense  of  un- 
easy personal  shame.  This  poet  was  at  any  rate  a  man; 
he  might  have  posed  for  a  Coriolanus  or  Marc  Antony; 
and  there  was  something  supreme  about  him  that  could 
not  be  sneered  down. 

The  dinner,  meanwhile,  reached  its  dessert-climax, 
and  the  duchess  rose,  giving  the  customary  departing 
signal  to  her  lady  guests,  Alwyn  hastened  to  open  the 
door  for  her,  and  she  passed  out  followed  by  a  train  of 
women  in  rich  and  rustling  costumes,  all  of  whom,  as 
they  swept  past  the  kingly  figure  that  with  slightly  bent 
head  and  courteous  mien  thus  paid  silent  homage  to  their 
sex,  were  conscious  of  very  unusual  emotions  of  respect 
and  reverence.  How  would  it  be,  some  of  them  thought, 
if  they  were  more  frequently  brought  into  contact  with 
such  royal  and  gracious  manhood?  Would  not  love  then 
become  indeed  a  hallowed  glory,  and  marriage  a  true 
sacrament?  Was  it  not  possible  for  men  to  be  the  gods 
of  this  world  rather  than  the  devils  they  so  often  are? 
Such  were  a  few  of  the  questions  that  flitted  dimly  through 
the  minds  of  the  society-fagged  fair  ones  that  clustered 
round  the  Duchesse  de  la  Santoisie  and  eagerly  discussed 
Alwyn's  personal  beauty  and  extraordinary  charm  of  man- 
ner. 

The  gentlemen  did  not  absent  themselves  long,  and 
with  their  appearance  from  the  dining-room  the  recep- 
tion of  the  evening  began.  Crowds  of  people  arrived 
and  crammed  up  the  stairs,  filling  every  corridor  and 
corner;  and  Alwyn,  growing  tired  of  the  various  intro- 
ductions and  shakings  of  hands  to  which  he  was  sub- 
mitted, managed  presently  to  slip  away  into  a  conserva- 
tory adjoining  the  great  drawing-room — a  cool,  softly 
lighted  place,  full  of  flowering  azaleas  and  rare  plants. 
Here  he  sat  for  a  while  among  the  red  and  white  bios- 


ONE  AGAINST  MANY  499 

soms,  listening  to  the  incessant  hum  of  voices  and  won- 
dering what  enjoyment  human  beings  could  find  in  thus 
herding  together  en  masse,  and  chattering  all  at  once, 
as  though  life  depended  on  chatter,  when  the  rustling 
of  a  woman's  dress  disturbed  his  brief  solitude.  He  rose 
directly,  as  he  saw  his  fair  hostess  approaching  him. 

"Ah,  you  have  fled  away  from  us,  Mr.  Alwyn!"  she 
said  with  a  slight  smile.  "I  do  not  wonder  at  it.  These 
receptions  are  the  bane  of  one's  social  existence." 

"Then  why  do  you  give  them?"  asked  Alwyn  half 
laughingly. 

"Why?  Oh,  because  it  is  the  fashion,  I  suppose,  she 
answered  languidly,  leaning  against  a  marble  column 
that  supported  the  towering  frondage  of  a  tropical  fern, 
and  toying  with  her  fan.  "And  I,  like  others,  am  a 
slave  to  fashion.  I  have  escaped  for  one  moment,  but  I 
must  go  back  directly.  Mr.  Alwyn"— she  hesitated, 
then  came  straight  up  to  him  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm — "I  want  to  thank  you. " 

"To  thank  me?"  he  repeated  in  surprised  accents. 
"Yes,"  she  said  steadily;  "to  thank  you  for  what  you 
have  said  to-night.  We  live  in  a  dreary  age,  when  no 
one  has  much  faith  or  hope,  and  still  less  charity.  Death 
is  set  before  us  as  the  final  end  of  all ;  and  life,  as  lived 
by  most  people,  is  not  only  not  worth  living,  but  utterly 
contemptible.  Your  clearly  expressed  opinions  have 
made  me  think  it  is  possible  to  do  better"— her  lips 
quivered  a  little,  and  her  breath  came  and  went  quickly- 
"and  I  shall  begin  to  try  and  find  out  how  this  'bet- 
ter' can  be  consummated.  Pray,do  not  think  me  foolish—" 
"/  think  you  foolish?"  and  with  grave  courtesy  Alwyn 
raised  her  hand  and  touched  it  gently  with  his  lips, 
then  as  gently  released  it.  His  action  was  full  of  grace  ; 
it  implied  reverence,  trust,  honor ;  and  the  duchess  looked 
at  him  with  soft,  wet  eyes,  in  which  a  smile  still  lin- 
gered. 

"If  there  were  more  men  like  you,"  she  said  sudden- 
ly, "what  a  difference  it  would  make  to  us  women!  We 
should  be  proud  to  share  the  burdens  of  life  with  those 
on  whose  absolute  integrity  and  strength  we  could  rely; 
but  in  these  days  we  do  not  rely  so  much  as  we  despise, 
we  cannot  love  so  much  as  we  condemn.  You  are  a  poet, 
and  for  you  the  world  takes  ideal  colors;  for  you,  per- 


500  "ARDATH" 

chance,  the  very  heavens  have  opened;  but  remember 
that  the  millions  who,  in  the  present  era,  are  ground 
down  under  the  heels  of  the  grimmest  necessity  have 
no  such  glimpses  of  God  as  are  vouchsafed  to  you! 
They  are  truly  in  the  darkness  and  shadow  of  death ; 
they  hear  no  angel  music;  they  sit  in  dungeons,  howled 
at  by  preachers,  and  teachers  who  make  no  actual  attempt 
to  lead  them  into  light  and  liberty;  while  we,  the  so- 
called  'upper'  classes,  are  imprisoned  as  closely  as  they, 
and  crushed  by  intolerable  weights  of  learning  such  as 
many  of  us  are  not  fitted  to  bear.  Those  who  aspire 
heavenward  are  hurled  to  earth  ;  those  who  of  their  own 
choice  cling  to  earth  become  so  fastened  to  it  that  even 
if  they  wished  they  could  not  rise.  Believe  me,  you  will 
be  sorely  disheartened  in  your  efforts  toward  the  highest 
good.  You  will  find  most  people  callous,  careless,  ig- 
norant, and  forever  scoffing  at  what  they  do  not,  and 
will  not,  understand.  You  had  better  leave  us  to  our 
dust  and  ashes" — and  a  little  mirthless  laugh  escaped 
her  lips — "for  to  pluck  us  from  thence  now  will  almost 
need  a  second  visitation  of  Christ,  in  whom,  if  he  came, 
we  should  probably  not  believe.  Moreover,  you  must 
not  forget  that  we  have  read  Darwin,  and  we  are  so 
charmed  with  our  monkey  ancestors  that  we  are  doing 
our  best  to  imitate  them  in  every  possible  way,  in  the 
hope  that,  with  time  and  patience,  we  may  resolve  our- 
selves back  into  the  original  species." 

With  which  bitter  sarcasm,  uttered  half  mockingly, 
half  in  good  earnest,  she  left  him  and  returned  to  her 
guests.  Not  very  long  afterward  he,  having  sought  and 
found  Villiers,  and  suggested  to  him  that  it  was  time  to 
make  a  move  homeward,  approached  her  in  company 
with  his  friend  and  bade  her  farewell, 

"I  don't  think  we  shall  see  you  often  in  society,  Mr. 
A.lwyn,"  she  said  rather  wistfully,  as  she  gave  him  her 
iiand.  "You  are  too  much  of  a  Titan  among  pigmies!" 

He  flushed  and  .waved  aside  the  remark  with  a  few 
playful  words.  Unlike  his  former  self,  if  there  was  any- 
thing  in  the  world  he  shrank  from,  it  was  flattery,  or 
what  seemed  like  flattery.  Once  outside  the  house,  he 
drew  a  long  breath  of  relief,  and  glanced  gratefully  up  at 
the  sky,  bright  with  a  glistening  multitude  of  stars. 
Thank  God,  there  were  worlds  in  that  glorious  expanse 


HELIOBAS  501 

of  ether,  peopled  with  loftier  types  of  being  than  what 
is  called  humanity!  Villiers  looked  at  him  question- 
ingly. 

"Tired  of  your  own  celebrity,  Alwyn?"  he  asked,  tak- 
ing him  by  the  arm.  "Are  the  pleasures  of  fame  already 
exhausted?" 

Alwyn  smiled.  He  thought  of  the  fame  of  Sah  luma, 
laureate-bard  of  Al-Kyris! 

"Nay,  if  the  dream  that  I  told  you  of  had  any  mean- 
ing at  all,"  he  replied,  "then  I  enjoyed  and  exhausted 
those  pleasures  Icng  ago !  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason 
why  rny  'celebrity'  seems  such  a  poor  and  tame  circum- 
stance now.  But  I  was  not  thinking  of  myself.  I  was 
wondering  whether,  after  all,  the  slight  power  I  have 
attained  can  be  of  much  use  to  others.  I  am  only  one 
against  many." 

"Nevertheless,  there  is  an  old  maxim  which  says  that 
one  hero  makes  a  thousand,"  said  Villiers  quietly.  "And 
it  is  an  undeniable  fact  that  the  vastest  number  ever 
counted  begins  at  the  very  beginning  with  ONE!" 

Alwyn  met  his  smiling,  earnest  eyes  with  a  quick, 
responsive  light  in  his  own,  and  the  two  friends  walked 
the  rest  of  the  way  home  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HELIOBAS. 

SOME  few  days  after  the  duchess'  dinner-party,  Alwyn 
was  strolling  one  morning  through  the  park,  enjoying  to 
the  full  the  keen,  fresh  odors  of  the  spring — odors  that 
even  in  London  cannot  altogether  lose  their  sweetness, 
so  long  as  hyacinths  and  violets  consent  to  bloom  and 
almond-trees  to  flower  beneath  the  too  unpropitious 
murkiness  of  city  skies.  It  had  been  raining,  but  now 
the  clouds  had  rolled  off,  and  the  sun  shone  as  brightly 
as  it  ever  can  shine  on  the  English  capital,  sending 
sparkles  of  gold  among  the  still  wet  foliage,  and  reviv- 
ing the  little  crocuses  that  had  lately  tumbled  down  in 
heaps  on  the  grass  like  a  frightened  fairy  army  put  to 


502  "ARDATH" 

rout  by  the  onslaught  of  the    recent    shower.     A    black, 
bird,  whose  cheery  note  suggested    melodious    memories- 
drawn  from  the  heart  of  the  quiet  country,  was  whistling 
a  lively  improvisation  on    the  bough  of  a  chestnut-tree, 
whereof     the    brown,    shining     buds    were    just    burst- 
ing into  leaf,  and  Alwyn,  whose  every  sense    was  pleas- 
antly   attuned  to  the  small  as  well    as  great    harmonica 
of  nature,  paused  for  a  moment  to  listen  to  the  luscious 
piping  of  the  feathered    minstrel    that,  in    its    own  wild 
woodland  way,  had  as  excellent  ?n  idea  of  musical  vari- 
ation as  any  Mozart  or  Chopin.     Leaning  against  one  ol 
the  park    benches,  with    his    back    turned  to  the    main 
thoroughfare,  he  did  not  observe  the  approach  of  a  manjs 
tall,  stately    figure,    that,     with    something  of    his    own 
light,  easy,    swinging    step,  had    followed    him    rapidly 
along  for  some  little  distance,    and  that  now   halted    ab- 
ruptly within  a  space  or  two  of  where  he   stood — a  man 
whose  fine  face  and  singular   distinction  of    bearing  had 
caused  many  a  passer-by  to  stare  at  him  in  vague  admira- 
tion and  to  wonder  who  such  a  regal-looking    personage 
might  possibly  be.   Alwyn,  however,  absorbed  in  thought, 
saw  no  one,  and  was  about    to  resume  his  onward  walk, 
when  suddenly,  as  though    moved  by    some    instinctive 
impulse,  he  turned  sharply  round,  and  in    so  doing  con* 
fronted  the  stranger,  who  straightway    advanced,  lifting 
his  hat  and  smiling.    One  amazed  glance,  and  then,  with 
an  ejaculation  of  wonder,    recognition,  and    delight,  Al- 
wyn sprang  forward  and  grasped  his  extended  hand. 

"Heliobas!"  he  exclaimed;  "is  it  possible  you  are  in 
London?  You,  of  all  men  in  the  world!" 

"Even  so!"  replied  Heliobas  gayly;  "and  why  not? 
Am  I  incongruous  and  out  of  keeping  with  the  march  of 
modern  civilization?" 

Alwyn  looked  at  him  half-bewildered,  half-incredu- 
lous; he  could  hardly  believe  his  own  eyes.  It  seemed 
such  an  altogether  amazing  thing  to  meet  this  devout 
and  grave  Chaldean  philosopher,  this  mystic  monk  of 
the  Caucasus,  here  in  the  very  center,  as  it  were,  of  the 
world's  business,  traffic,  and  pleasure.  One  might  as 
well  have  expected  to  find  a  hallowed  saint  in  the  whirl 
of  a  carnival  masquerade!  Incongruous?  Out  of  keep- 
ing? Yes;  certainly  he  was.  For  though  clad  in  the 
plain,  conventional  garb  to  which  the  men  of  the  pres- 


HELIOBAS  503 

ent  day  are  doomed  by  the  fiat  of  commerce  and  cus- 
tom, the  splendid  dignity  and  picturesqueness  of  his  fine 
personal  appearance  was  by  no  means  abated;  and  it 
was  just  this  that  marked  him  out  and  made  of  him  as 
wonderful  a  figure  in  London  as  though  come  god  or 
evangelist  should  suddenly  pass  through  a  wilderness  of 
chattering  apes  and  screaming  vultures. 

"But  how  and  when  did  you  come?"  asked  Alwyn 
presently,  recovering  from  his  first  glad  shock  of  sur- 
prise. "You  see  how  genuine  is  my  astonishment.  Why, 
I  thought  you  were  a  perpetually  vowed  recluse — that 
you  never  went  into  the  world  at  all — " 

"Neither  I  do,"  rejoined  Heliobas,  "save  when  strong 
necessity  demands.  But  our  order  is  not  so  'enclosed' 
that  if  duty  calls  we  cannot  advance  to  its  beckoning; 
and  there  are  certain  times  when  both  I  and  those  of 
my  fraternity  mingle  with  men  in  common,  undistin- 
guished from  the  ordinary  inhabitants  of  cities  either  by 
dress,  customs,  or  manners,  as  you  see!"  And  he  laugh- 
ingly touched  his  overcoat,  the  dark,  rough  cloth  of 
which  was  relieved  by  a  broad  collar  and  revers  of  rich 
sealskin.  "Would  you  not  take  me  for  a  highly  respect- 
able brewer,  par  example,  conscious  that  his  prowess  in 
the  making  of  beer  has  entitled  him  not  only  to  an  im- 
mediate seat  in  Parliament,  but  also  to  a  dukedom  in 
prospective?" 

Alwyn  smiled  at  the  droll  inapplicability  of  this  com- 
parison, and  Heliobas  cheerfully  continued:  "I  am  on 
the  wing  just  now,  bound  for  Mexico.  I  had  business 
in  London,  and  arrived  here  two  days  since — two  days 
more  will  see  me  again  en  voyage.  I  am  glad  to  have 
met  you  thus  by  chance,  for  I  did  not  know  your  ad- 
dress ;  and  though  I  might  have  obtained  that  through 
your  publishers,  I  hesitated  about  it,  not  being  quite  cer- 
tain as  to  whether  a  letter  or  visit  from  me  might  be 
welcome." 

"Surely — "  began  Alwyn,  and  then  he  paused,  a  flush 
rising  to  his  brow  as  he  remembered  how  obstinately  he 
had  doubted  and  suspected  this  man's  good  faith  and 
intention  toward  him,  and  how  he  had  even  received  his 
farewell  benediction  at  Dariel  with  more  resentment  than 
gratitude. 

"Everywhere  I  hear  great  things  of  you,  Mr.  Alwyn," 


504  "ARDATH" 

went  on  Heliobas  gently,  taking  no  notice  of  nis  em- 
barrassment. "Your  fame  is  now  indeed  unquestionable. 
With  all  my  heart  I  congratulate  you,  and  wish  you 
long  life  and  health  to  enjoy  the  triumph  of  your  genius. " 

Alwyn  smiled,  and  turning,  fixed  his  clear,  soft  eyes 
full  on  the  speaker. 

"I  thank  you,"  he  said  simply.  "But  you,  who  have 
such  a  quick,  instinctive  comprehension  of  the  minds 
and  characters  of  men,  judge  for  yourself  whether  I  at- 
tach any  value  to  the  poor  renown  I  have  won — renown 
that  I  once  would  have  given  my  very  life  to  possess." 

As  he  spoke  he  stopped.  They  were  walking  down  a 
quiet  side-path,  under  the  wavering  shadow  of  newly 
bourgeoning  beeches,  and  a  bright  shaft  of  sunshine 
struck  through  the  delicate  foliage  straight  on  his  serene 
and  handsome  countenance.  Heliobas  gave  him  a  swift, 
keen,  observant  glance.  In  a  moment  he  noticed  what  a 
marvelous  change  had  been  wrought  in  the  man  who, 
but  a  few  months  before,  had  come  to  him  a  wreck  of 
wasted  life — a  wreck  that  was  not  only  ready,  but  will- 
ing to  drift  into  downward  currents  and  whirlpools  of 
desperate,  godless,  blank,  and  hopeless  misery.  And 
now,  how  completely  he  was  transformed !  Health  col- 
ored his  cheeks  and  sparkled  in  his  eyes;  health,  both 
of  body  and  mind, gave  that  quick  brilliancy  to  his  smile, 
and  that  easy,  yet  powerful,  poise  to  his  whole  figure; 
while  the  supreme  consciousness  of  the  immortal  spirit 
within  him  surrounded  him  with  the  same  indescribable 
fascination  and  magnetic  attractiveness  that  distinguished 
Heliobas  himself,  even  as  it  distinguishes  all  who  have 
in  good  earnest  discovered  and  accepted  the  only  true 
explanation  of  their  individual  mystery  of  being.  One 
steady,  flashing  look,  and  then  Heliobas  silently  held  out 
his  hand.  As  silently  Alwyn  clasped  it,  and  the  two 
men  understood  each  other.  All  constraint  was  at  an 
end,  and  when  they  resumed  their  slow  sauntering  under 
the  glistening  green  branches,  they  were  mutually  aware 
that  they  now  held  an  almost  equal  rank  in  the  hierarchy 
of  spiritual  knowledge,  strength,  and  sympathy. 

"Evidently  your  adventure  to  the  ruins  of  Babylon 
was  not  altogether  without  results,"  said  Heliobas  softly. 
"Your  appearance  indicates  happiness.  Is  your  life  at 
last  complete?" 


KELIOBAS  505 

"Complete?  No!"  and  Alwyn  sighed  somewhat  im- 
patiently. "It  cannot  be  complete  so  long  as  its  best 
and  purest  half  is  elsewhere.  My  fame  is,  as  you  can 
guess,  a  mere  ephemera — a  small,  vanishing  point,  in 
comparison  with  the  higher  ambition  I  have  now  in  view. 
Listen!  You  know  nothing  of  what  happened  to  me  on 
the  field  of  'Ardath.'  i  should  have  written  to  you,  per- 
haps, but  it  is  better  to  speak.  I  will  tell  you  all  as 
briefly  as  I  can." 

And  talking  in  an  undertone,  with  arm  linked  through 
that  of  his  companion,  he  related  the  whole  strange  story 
of  the  visitation  of  Edris,  the  dream  of  Al-Kyris,  his 
awakening  on  the  prophet's  field  at  sunrise,  and  his 
final  renunciation  of  self  at  the  cross  of  Christ.  Heliobas 
listened  to  him  in  perfect  si lence,his  eyes  alone  express- 
ing with  what  eager  interest  and  attention  he  followed 
every  incident  of  the  narrative. 

"And  now,"  said  Alwyn  in  conclusion,  "I  always  try 
to  remember  for  my  own  comfort  that  I  left  my  dead 
self  in  the  burning  ruin  of  that  dream-built  city  of  the 
past,  or  seemed  to  leave  it;  and  yet  I  feel  sometimes 
as  if  its  shadow-presence  clung  to  me  still.  I  look  in 
the  mirror  and  see  strange, faint  reflections  of  the  actual 
personal  attributes  of  the  slain  Sah-luma.  Occasionally 
these  are  so  strong  and  distinctly  marked  that  I  turn 
away  in  anger  from  my  own  image.  Why,  I  loved  that 
phantasm  of  a  poet  in  my  dreams  as  I  must  for  ages  have 
loved  myself  to  my  own  utter  undoing!  I  admired  his 
work  with  such  extravagant  fondness,  that  thinking  of 
it  I  blush  for  shame  at  my  own  thus  manifest  conceit. 
In  truth,  there  is  only  one  thing  in  that  pictured  char- 
acter of  his  I  can  for  the  present  judge  myself  free  from, 
namely,  the  careless  rejection  of  true  love  for  false,  the 
wanton  misprisal  of  a  faithful  heart  such  as  Niphrata's 
— whose  fair  child -face  even  now  often  flits  before  my 
remorseful  memory — and  the  evil,  sensual  passion  for  a 
woman  whose  wickedness  was  as  evident  as  her  beauty 
was  paramount.  I  could  never  understand  or  explain 
this  willful,  headstrong  weakness  in  my  shadow-self.  It 
was  the  one  circumstance  in  my  vision  that  seemed  to 
have  little  to  do  with  the  positive  Me  in  its  application; 
but  now  I  thoroughly  grasp  the  meaning  of  the  lesson 
conveyed,  which  is  that  no  man  ever  really  knows  him- 


506  "ARDATH" 

self,  or  fathoms  the  depths  of  his  own  possible  inconsist- 
encies. And  as  matters  stand  with  me  at  the  present 
time,  I  am  hemmed  in  on  all  sides  by  difficulties;  for 
since  the  modern  success  of  that  very  anciently  com- 
posed poem  'Nourhalma'" — and  he  smiled — "my  friends 
and  acquaintances  are  doing  their  best  to  make  me  think 
as  much  of  myself  as  if  I  were — well!  all  that  1  am  not. 
Do  what  I  will,  I  believe  I  am  still  an  egotist  — nay,  1 
am  sure  of  it;  for  even  as  regards  my  heavenly  saint, 
Edris,  I  am  selfish." 

"How  so?"  asked  Heliobas,  with  a  grave  side-glance 
of  admiration  at  the  thoughtful  face  and  meditative, 
earnest  eyes  of  this  poet,  this  once  bitter  and  blasphe- 
mous skeptic,  grown  up  now  to  a  majesty  of  faith  that 
not  all  the  scorn  of  men  or  devils  could  ever  shake 
again. 

"I  want  her,"  he  replied;  and  there  was  a  thrill  of 
pathetic  yearning  in  his  voice.  "I  long  for  her  every - 
moment  of  the  da)'  and  night.  It  seems,  too,  as  if  every 
thing  combined  to  encourage  this  craving  in  me — this 
fond,  mad  desire  to  draw  her  down  from  her  own  bright 
sphere  of  joy  down  to  my  arms,  my  heart,  my  life! 
See!" — and  he  stopped  by  a  bed  of  white  hyacinths 
nodding  softly  in  the  faint  breeze — "even  those  flowers 
remind  me  of  her!  When  I  look  up  at  the  blue  sky  I 
think  of  the  radiance  of  her  eyes  ;  they  were  the  heav- 
en's own  color.  When  I  see  light  clouds  floating  to- 
gether, half  gray,  half  tinted  by  the  sun,  they  seem  to 
me  to  resemble  the  scft  and  noiseless  garb  she  wore. 
The  birds  sing  only  to  recall  to  me  the  lute-like  sweet- 
ness of  her  voice ;  and  at  night  when  I  behold  the  mil- 
lions upon  millions  of  stars  that  are  worlds,  peopled  as 
they  must  be  with  thousands  of  wonderful  living  crea- 
tures, perhaps  as  spiritually  composed  as  she,  I  some- 
times find  it  hard  that,  out  of  all  the  exhaustless  types 
of  being  that  love,  serve,  and  praise  God  in  heaven, 
this  one  fair  spirit,  only  this  one  angel-maiden,  should 
not  be  spared  to  help  and  comfort  me!  Yes!  I  am 
selfish  to  the  heart's  core,  my  friend."  And  his  eyes 
darkened  with  a  vague  wistfulness  and  trouble.  "More- 
over, I  have  weakly  striven  to  excuse  my  selfishness  to 
my  own  conscience  thus:  I  have  thought  that  if  shf 
were  vouchsated  to  me  for  the  remainder  of  my  days  I 


HELIOBAS 


5<>7 


might  then  indeed  do  lasting  good,  and  leave  lasting 
consolation  to  the  world;  such  work  might  be  performed 
as  would  stir  the  most  callous  souls  to  life  and  energy 
and  aspiration;  with  her  sweet  presence  near  me,  visi- 
bly close  and  constant,  there  is  no  task  so  difficult  that 
I  would  not  essay  and  conquer  in,  for  her  sake,  her  ser- 
vice, her  greater  glory!  But  alone!"— and  he  gave  a 
slight  hopeless  gesture — "nay,  Christ  knows  I  will  do  the 
utmost  best  I  can,  but  the  solitary  ways  of  life  are 
hard!" 

Heliobas  regarded  him  fixedly. 

"You  seem  to  be  alone,"  he  said  presently,  after  a 
pause,  "but  truly  you  are  not  so.  You  think  you  are  set 
apart  to  do  your  work  in  solitude;  nevertheless,  she 
whom  you  love  may  be  near  you  even  while  you  speak. 
Still,  I  understand  what  you  mean;  you  long  to  see  her 
again — to  realize  her  tangible  form  and  presence.  Well, 
this  cannot  be  until  you  pass  from  this  earth  and  adopt 
her  nature — unless — unless  she  descends  hither  and  adopts 
yours!" 

The  last  words  were  uttered  slowly  and  impressively, 
and  Alwyn's  countenance  brightened  "with  a  sudden  ir- 
resistible rapture. 

"That  would  be  impossible!"  he  said,  but  his  voice 
trembled,  and  there  was  more  interrogativeness  than 
assertion  in  his  tone. 

"Impossible  in  most  cases,  yes,"  agreed  Heliobas; 
"but  in  your  specially  chosen  and  privileged  estate  I 
cannot  positively  say  that  such  a  thing  might  not  be." 

For  one  moment  a  strange,  eager  brilliancy  shone  in 
Alwyn's  eyes;  the  next  he  set  his  lips  hard  and  made  a 
firm  gesture  of  denial. 

"Do  not  tempt  me,  good  Heliobas!"  he  said,  with  a 
faint  smile;  "or,  rather,  do  not  let  me  tempt  myself! 
I  bear  in  constant  mind  what  she,  my  Edris,  told  me 
when  she  left  me — that  we  should  not  meet  again  till 
after  death,  unless  the  longing  of  my  love  compelled. 
Now,  if  it  be  true,  as  I  have  often  thought,  that  I  could 
compel,  by  what  right  dare  I  use  such  power,  if  power 
I  have,  upon  her?  She  loves  me,  I  love  her;  and  by 
the  force  of  love,  such  love  as  ours — who  knows? — I 
might  perchance  persuade  her  to  adopt  awhile  this  mean, 
uneasy  vesture  of  mere  mortal  life;  and  the  very  innate 


508  ««ARDATK'* 

perc«ption  that  I  might  do  so  is  the  sharpest  trial  1 
have  to  endure.  Because,  if  I  would  thoroughly  con- 
quer myself,  I  must  resist  this  feeling — nay,  I  will  re- 
sist it;  for  let  it  cost  me  what  it  may, I  have  sworn  that 
the  selfishness  of  my  own  personal  desire  shall  never 
cross  or  cloud  the  radiance  of  her  perfect  happiness  !'• 

"But  suppose,"  suggested  Heliobas  quietly,  'suppose 
she  were  to  find  an  even  more  complete  happiness  in 
making  you  happy?" 

Ahvyn  shook  his  head.  "My  friend,  do  not  let  us  talk 
of  it!"  he  answered.  "No  joy  can  be  more  complete 
than  the  joy  of  heaven,  and  that  in  its  full  blessedness 
is  hers." 

"That  in  its  full  blessedness  is  not  hers,"  declared 
Heliobas,  with  emphasis;  "and,  moreover,  it  car  never 
be  hers,  while  you  are  still  an  exile  and  wanderer.  Friend 
Poet,  do  you  think  that  even  heaven  is  wholly  happy 
to  one  who  loves  and  whose  beloved  is  absent?" 

A  tremor  shook  Alwyn's  nerves;  his  eyes  glowed  as 
though  the  inward  fire  of  his  soul  had  lighted  them, 
but  his  face  grew  very  pale. 

"No  more  of  this,  for  God's  sake!"  he  said  passion- 
ately. "I  must  not  dream  of  it;  I  dare  not!  I  become 
the  slave  of  my  own  imagined  rapture — the  coward  who 
falls  conquered  and  trembling  before  his  own  desire  of 
delight!  Rather  let  me  strive  to  be  glad  that  she,  my 
angel-love,  is  so  far  removed  from  my  unworthiness!  let 
her,  if  she  be  near  me  now,  read  my  thoughts,  and  sae 
in  them  how  dear,  how  sacred  is  her  fair  and  glorious 
memory — how  I  would  rather  endure  an  eternity  of  an- 
guish than  make  her  sad  for  one  brief  hour  of  mortal- 
counted  time!" 

He  was  greatly  moved;  his  voice  trembled  with  the 
fervor  of  its  own  music, and  Heliobas  looked  at  him  with 
a  grave  and  very  tender  smile. 

"Enough!"  he  said  gently;  "I  will  speak  no  further 
on  this  subject,  which  I  see  affects  you  deeply.  Never- 
theless,  I  would  have  you  remember  how,  when  the 
Master  whom  we  serve  passed  through  his  agony  at  Geth- 
semane,  and  with  all  the  knowledge  of  his  own  power 
and  glory  strong  upon  him,  still,  in  his  vast  self  abne- 
gation, said,  'Not  my  will  but  thine  be  done!'  that 
then  'there  appeared  an  angel  unto  him  from  heaven, 


strengthening  him.'  Think  of  this;  for  every  incident  in 
that  divine-human  life  is  a  hint  for  ours,  and  often  it 
chances  that  when  we  reject  happiness  for  the  sake  of 
goodness,  happiness  is  suddenly  bestowed  upon  us. 
God's  miracles  are  endless,  God's  blessings  exhaustless; 
and  the  marvels  of  this  wondrous  universe  are  as  nothing 
compared  to  the  workings  of  his  sovereign  will  for  good 
on  the  lives  of  those  who  serve  him  faithfully." 

Alwyn  flashed  upon  him  a  quick,  half-questioning 
glance,  but  was  silent;  and  they  walked  on  together 
for  some  minutes  without  exchanging  a  word.  A  few 
people  passed  and  repassed  them;  some  little  children 
were  playing  hide-and  seek  behind  the  trunks  of  the 
largest  trees;  the  air  was  fresh  and  invigorating,  and 
the  incessant  roar  of  busy  traffic  outside  the  park  palings 
offered  a  perpetual  noisy  reminder  of  the  great  world 
that  surged  around  them — the  world  of  petty  aims  and 
transitory  pleasures,  with  which  they,  filled  full  of  the 
knowledge  of  higher  and  eternal  things,  had  so  little  in 
common  save  sympathy — sympathy  for  the  willful  wrong- 
doing of  man,  and  pity  for  his  self-imposed  blindness. 
Presently  Heliobas  spoke  again,  in  his  customary  light 
and  cheerful  tone. 

"Are  you  writing  anything  new  just  now?"  he  asked; 
"or  are  you  resting  from  literary  labor?" 

"Well,  rest  and  work  are  with  me  very  nearly  one  and 
the  same,"  replied  Alwyn.  "I  think  the  most  absolutely 
tiring  and  exhausting  thing  in  the  wcrld  would  be  to 
have  nothing  to  do.  Then  I  can  imagine  life  becoming 
indeed  a  weighty  burden!  Yes,  I  am  engaged  on  a  new 
poem.  It  gives  me  intense  pleasure  to  write  it,  but 
whether  it  will  give  any  one  equal  pleasure  to  read  it  is 
quite  another  question." 

"Does  'Zabastes'  still  loom  on  your  horizon?"  inquired 
his  companion  mirthfully;  "or  are  you  still  inclined,  as 
in  the  past,  to  treat  him,  whether  he  comes  singly  or  in 
numbers,  as  the  poet's  court  jester  and  paid  fool?" 

Alwyn  laughed  lightly.  "Perhaps!"  he  answered,  with  a 
sparkle  of  amusement  in  his  eyes;  "but  really,  so  far  as 
the  wind  of  criticism  goes,  I  don't  think  any  author 
nowadays  particularly  cares  whether  it  blows  fair  weathei 
or  foul.  You  see,  we  all  know  how  it  is  done;  we  can 
name  the  clubs  and  cliques  from  whence  it  emanates 


510  "ARDATH" 

and  we  are  fully  aware  that  if  one  leading  man  of  a  'set1 
gives  the  starting  signal  of  praise  or  blame, the  rest  fol- 
low like  sheep,  without  either  thought  or  personal  dis- 
crimination.  Moreover,  some  of  us  have  met  and  talked 
with  certain  of  these  magazine  and  newspaper  oracles, 
and  have  tested  for  ourselves  the  limited  extent  of  their 
knowledge  and  the  shallowness  of  their  wit.  1  assuie 
you  it  often  happens  that  a  great  author  is  tried,  judged, 
and  condemned  by  a  little  casual  pressman,  who,  in  hi? 
very  criticism,  proves  himself  ignorant  of  grammar.  Of 
course,  if  the  public  choose  to  accept  such  a  verdict, 
why  then,  all  the  worse  for  the  public!  But  luckily 
the  majority  of  men  are  beginning  to  learn  the  ins  and 
outs  of  the  modern  critic's  business;  they  see  his  of 
her  methods  (it  is  a  notable  fact  that  women  do  a  great 
deal  of  criticism  now — they  being  willing  to  scribble 
oracular  commonplaces  at  a  cheaper  rate  of  pay  than 
men),  so  that  if  a  book  is  condemned  people  are  dubious, 
and  straightway  read  it  for  themselves  to  see  what  is  in 
it  that  excites  aversion.  If  it  is  praised,  they  are  still 
dubious,  and  generally  decide  that  the  critical  eulogist 
must  have  some  personal  interest  in  its  sale.  It  is  diffi- 
cult for  an  author  to  win  his  public,  but  when  won, 
the  critics  may  applaud  or  deride  as  suits  their  humor ; 
it  makes  no  appreciable  difference  to  his  popularity.  Now, 
I  consider  my  own  present  fame  was  won  by  a  chance — 
a  misconception,  that,  as  /  know,  had  its  ancient  foun- 
dation in  truth,  but  that  as  far  as  everybody  else  is 
concerned  remains  a  misconception ;  so  that  I  estimate 
my  success  at  its  right  value,  or,  rather,  let  me  say  at 
its  proper  worthlessness. " 

And  in  a  few  words  he  related  how  the  leaders  of 
English  journalism  had  judged  him  dead,  and  had  praised 
his  work  chiefly  because  it  was  deemed  posthumous.  "I 
believe,"  he  added  good-humoredly,  "that  if  this  mistake 
had  not  arisen  I  should  scarcely  have  been  heard  of, 
since  I  advocate  no  particular  'cult'  and  belong  to  no 
mutual  admiration  alliance,  offensive  or  defensive.  But 
my  supposed  untimely  decease  served  me  better  than 
the  Browning  Society  serves  Browning. " 

Again  he  laughed.  Heliobas  had  listened  with  a  keen 
and  sarcastic  enjoyment  of  the  whole  story. 

"Undoubtedly  your    'Zabastes'  was  no  phantom!"  h« 


HELIOBAS  5JX 

observed  emphatically.  "His  was  evidently  a  very  real 
existence,  and  he  must  have  divided  himself  from  one 
into  several  to  sit  in  judgment  again  upon  you  in  this 
present  day.  History  repeats  itself,  and  unhappily  all 
the  injustice,  hypocrisy,  and  inconsistency  of  man  is 
repeated  too;  and  out  of  the  multitudes  that  inhabit  the 
earth  how  few  will  succeed  in  fulfilling  their  highest 
destinies !  This  is  the  one  bitter  drop  in  the  cup  of  our 
knowledge;  we  can,  if  we  choose,  save  ourselves,  but 
we  can  seldom,  if  ever,  save  others!" 

Alwyn  stopped  short,  his  eyes  darkening  with  a  swift 
intensity  of  feeling. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked  earnestly.  "Must  we  look  on 
and  see  men  rushing  toward  certain  misery  without  mak- 
ing an  effort  to  turn  them  back,  to  warn  them  of  the 
darkness  whither  they  are  bound,  to  rescue  them  before 
it  is  too  late?" 

"My  friend,  we  can  make  the  effort,  certainly,  and  we 
are  bound  to  make  it  because  it  is  our  duty  ;  but  in  nine- 
ty-nine cases  out  of  a  hundred  we  shall  fail  of  our  per- 
suasion. What  can  I,  or  you,  or  any  one  do  against  the 
iron  force  of  free-will?  God  himself  will  not  constrain 
it;  how  then  shall  we?  In  the  Books  of  Esdras,  which 
have  already  been  of  such  use  to  you,  you  will  find  the 
following  significant  words:  'The  Most  High  hath  made 
this  world  for  many,  but  the  world  to  come  for  few.  As 
when  thou  askest  the  earth,  it  shall  say  unto  thee  that  it 
giveth  much  mould  whereof  earthen  vessels  are  made, 
and  but  little  dust  that  gold  cometh  of,  even  so  is  the 
course  of  this  present  world.  There  be  many  created,  but 
few  shall  be  saved.'  God  elects  to  be  served  by  choice 
and  not  by  compulsion.  It  is  his  law  that  man  shall 
work  out  his  own  immortal  destiny,  and  nothing  can 
alter  this  overwhelming  fact.  The  sublime  example  of 
Christ  was  given  us  as  a  means  to  assist  us  in  forming 
our  own  conclusions,  but  there  is  no  coercion  in  it — only 
a  divine  love.  You,  for  instance,  were,  and  are  still, 
perfectly  free  to  reject  the  whole  of  your  experience  on 
the  field  of  'Ardath'  as  a  delusion.  Nothing  would  be 
easier,  and,  from  the  world's  point  of  view,  nothing 
more  natural.  Faith  and  doubt  are  equally  voluntary 
acts;  the  one  is  the  instinct  of  the  immortal  soul,  the 
other  the  tendency  tsfther  perishable  bodyy  and  the  will 


£12  ^ARDATH" 

decides  which  of  the  two  shall  conquer  in  the  end.  1 
know  that  you  are  firm  in  your  high  and  true  conviction  ; 
I  know  also  what  thoughts  are  at  work  in  your  brain. 
You  are  bending  all  your  energies  on  the  task  of  trying 
to  instill  into  the  mind,  of  your  fellow-men  some  com- 
prehension of  the  enlightenment  and  hope  you  yourself 
possess.  Ah,  you  must  prepare  for  disappointment.  For 
though  the  times  are  tending  toward  strange  upheavals 
and  terrors,  when  the  trumpet-voice  of  an  inspired  poet 
may  do  enormous  good,  still  the  name  of  the  willfully 
ignorant  is  Legion ;  the  age  is  one  of  the  grossest  mam- 
mon-worship, the  coarsest  atheism ;  and  the  noblest 
teachings  of  the  noblest  teacher,  were  he  even  another 
Shakespeare,  must  of  necessity  be  but  a  casting  of  pearls 
before  swine.  Still,"  and  his  rare,  sweet  smile  bright- 
ened the  serene  dignity  of  his  features,  "fling  out  the 
pearls  freely  all  the  same!  The  swine  may  grunt  at, 
but  cannot  rend,  you;  and  a  poet's  genius  should  be 
like  the  sunlight,  that  falls  en  rich  and  poor,  good  and 
bad,  with  glorious  impartiality.  If  you  can  comfori; 
one  sorrow,  check  one  sin,  'or  rescue  one  soul  from  the 
widening  quicksand  of  the  atheist-world,  you  have 
sufficient  reason  to  be  devoutl)'  thankful." 

By  this  time  their  walk  led  them  imperceptibly  to  one 
of  the  gates  of  egress  from  the  park, and  Heiiobas, point- 
ing to  a  huge  square  building  opposite,  said: 

"There  is  the  hotel  at  which  I  am  staying — one  of 
the  Americanized  monster  fabrics,  in  which  tired  trav- 
elers find  much  splendid  show  and  little  rest.  Will  you 
lunch  with  me?  I  am  quite  alone." 

Alwyn  gladly  assented.  He  was  most  unwilling  to 
part  at  once  from  this  man,  to  whom  in  a  measure  he 
felt  he  owed  his  present  happy  and  tranquil  condition 
of  body  and  mind.  Besides,  he  was  curious  to  find  out 
more  about  him,  to  obtain  from  him,  if  possible,  an 
entire  explanation  of  the  actual  tenets  and  chief  charac- 
teristics of  the  system  of  religious  worship  he  himself 
practiced  and  followed.  Heiiobas  seemed  to  guess  his 
thoughts,  for  suddenly  turning  upon  him  with  a  quick 
glance  he  observed: 

"You  want  to  'pluck  out  the  heart  of  my  mystery,1 
as  Hamlet  says,  do  you  not,  my  friend?"  and  he  smiled. 
"Well,  ae  you  shall,  if  you  can  4iscover  aught,  hi  me 


HELIOBAS 


513 


that  is  not  already  in  yourself.  I  assure  you  there  is 
nothing  preternatural  about  me.  My  peculiar  'eccen- 
tricity' consists  in  steadily  adapting  myself  to  the  scien- 
tific spiritual  as  well  as  scentifiic  material  laws  of  the 
universe.  The  two  sets  of  laws  united  make  harmony; 
hence  I  find  my  life  harmonious  and  satisfactory.  This 
is  my  'abnormal'  condition  of  mind,  and  you  are  now 
hilly  as  'abnormal'  as  I  am.  Come,  we  will  discuss  our 
mutual  strange  nonconformity  to  the  wild  world's  cus- 
tom or  caprice  over  a  glass  of  good  wine!  Observe, 
piease,  that  I  am  neither  a  'total  abstainer'  nor  a  'vege- 
tarian,'  and  that  I  have  a  curious  fashion  of  being  tem- 
perate, and  of  using  all  the  gifts  of  beneficent  Nature 
equally  and  without  prejudice." 

While  he  spoke  they  had  crossed  the  road,  and  they 
now  entered  the  vestibule  of  the  hotel,  where,  declining 
the  hall  porter's  offer  of  the  "lift,"  Heliobas  ascended 
the  stairs  leisurely  to  the  second  floor,  and  ushered  his 
companion  into  a  comfortable  private  sitting-room. 

"Fancy  men  consenting  to  be  drawn  up  to  their 
apartments  like  babes  in  a  basket!"  he  said  laughingly, 
alluding  to  the  "lift"  process.  "Upon  my  word!  when 
I  think  of  the  strong  people  of  a  past  age,  and  compare 
them  with  the  enervated  race  of  to-day,  I  feel  not  only 
pity,  but  shame,  for  the  visible  degeneration  of  mankind. 
Frail  nerves,  weak  hearts,  uncertain  limbs — these  are 
common  characteristics  of  the  young  nowadays,  instead  of 
being  as  formerly  the  natural  failings  of  the  old.  Wear 
and  tear  and  worry  of  modern  existence?  Oh  yes,  I 
know!  But  why  the  wear  and  tear  and  worry  at  all?  What 
is  it  for?  Simply  for  the  over-getting  of  money.  One 
must  live?  Certainly,  but  one  is  not  bound  to  live  in 
foolish  luxury  for  the  sake  of  out-flaunting  one's  neigh- 
bors. Better  to  live  simply  and  preserve  health  than 
gain  a  fortune  and  be  a  moping  dyspeptic  for  life!  But 
unless  one  toils  and  moils  like  a  beast  of  burden  one 
cannot  even  live  simply,  some  will  say.  I  don't  believe 
that  assertion.  The  peasants  of  France  live  simply,  and 
save ;  the  peasants  of  England  live  wretchedly,  and 
waste.  Voila  la  difference!  As  with  nations,  so  with 
individuals,  it  is  all  a  question  of  will.  'Where  there's 
a  will  there's  away'  is  a  dreadfully  trite  copy-book'  max- 
im>  but  it's  amazingly  true  all  the  same.  Now  let  us  to 


514  "ARDATH" 

the  acceptation  of  these  good  things  1" — this,  as  a  pal- 
lid, boyish-looking  waiter  just  then  entered  the  room 
with  the  luncheon,  and  in  his  bustling  to  and  fro  mani- 
fested unusual  eagerness  to  make  himself  agreeable.  "I 
have  made  excellent  friends  with  this  young  Ganymede; 
he  has  sworn  never  to  palm  off  raisin-wine  upon  me  for 
Chambertin. " 

The  waiter  blushed  and  chuckled  as  though  he  were 
conscious  of  having  gained  special  new  dignity  and  im- 
portance; and  having  laid  the  table  and  set  the  chairs, 
he  departed  with  a  flourishing  bow  worthy  of  a  prince's 
maitre  tf  hotel. 

"Your  name  must  seem  a  curious  one  to  these  fellows," 
observed  Alwyn,  when  he  had  gone — "unusual  and  even 
mysterious!" 

"Why,  yes!"  returned  Heliobas  with  a  laugh;  "it  would 
be  judged  so,  I  suppose,  if  I  ever  gave  it,  but  I  don't. 
It  was  only  in  England,  and  by  an  Englishman,  that  I 
was  once,  to  my  own  utter  amazement,  addressed  as 
'He-lya-oh-basj '  and  I  was  quite  alarmed  at  the  sound 
of  it.  One  would  think  that  most  people  in  these  edu- 
cational days  knew  the  Greek  word  helios,  and  one  would 
also  imagine  it  as  easy  to  say  Heliobas  as  heliograph. 
But  now,  to  avoid  mistakes,  whenever  I  touch  British 
territory  and  come  into  contact  with  British  tongues  I 
give  my  Christian  name  only — Casimir — the  result  of 
which  arrangement  is  that  I  am  known  in  this  hotel  as 
Mr.  Kasmer.  Oh,  I  don't  mind  in  the  least!  Why 
should  I?  Neither  the  English  nor  the  Americans  ever 
pronounce  foreign  names  properly.  Why,  I  met  a 
newly  established  young  publisher  yesterday  who  assured 
me  that  most  of  his  authors,  the  female  ones  especially, 
are  so  ignorant  of  foreign  literature  that  he  doubts 
whether  any  of  them  know  whether  Cervantes  was  a 
writer  or  an  ointment!" 

Alwyn  laughed.  "I  dare  say  the  young  publisher  may 
be  perfectly  right,"  he  said,  "but  all  the  same  he  has 
no  business  to  publish  the  literary  emanations  of  such 
ignorance." 

"Perhaps  not;  but  what  is  he  to  do  if  nothing  else  is 
offered  to  him?  He  has  to  keep  his  occupation  going 
somehow.  From  bad,  he  must  select  the  best.  He  can- 
not create  a  great  genius;  he  has  to  wait  till  nature,  in 


HELIOBAS  5*5 

the  course  of    events,  evolves    one  from    me    elements. 
And  in  the  present    general    dearth    of  high     ability  the 
publishers  are  really  more    sinned    against  than  sinning. 
They  spend  large  sums  and  incur  large  risks    in  launch- 
ing new  ventures  on  the  fickle  sea  of  popular  favor,  and 
often  their  trouble  is  taken  all  in  vain.      It    is  really  the 
stupid  egotism  of  authors  that  is  the  stumbling-block  in 
the  way  of  true    literature.      Each     little    scribbler    that 
produces  a    shilling    sensational  thinks    his  or    her  own 
work  a  marvel    of  genius,  and    nothing    can  shake  them 
from  their  obstinate  conviction.      If  every  man  or  wom- 
an, before  putting  pen  to  paper,  would  be  sure  they  had 
something  new,  suggestive,    symbolical,  or    beautiful  to 
say,  how  greatly  art  might  gain  by  their  labors!  Authors 
who  take  up  arms    against    publishers  en    masse,  and  in 
every  transaction  expect  to  be  cheated,  are  doing  them- 
selves irreparable  injury.      They  betray  the  cloven  hoof, 
namely,  a  greed  for  money;    and  when  once  that  passion 
dominates    them,  down  goes    their    reputation    and  they 
with  it.     It  is  the  old  story  over  again — 'Ye  cannot  serve 
God  and  Mammon;'  and  all  art  is    a  portion    of  God— a 
descending  of  the  divine  into  humanity." 

Alwyn  sat  for  a  minute  silent  and  thoughtful.  "A  de- 
scending of  the  divine  into  humanity!"  he  repeated 
slowly.  "It  seems  to  me  that  'miracle'  is  forever  being 
enacted,  and  yet — we  doubt!" 

"We  do  not  doubt,"  said  Heliobas.  "We  know;  we 
have  touched  reality.  But  see  yonder!"  and  he  pointed 
through  the  window  to  the  crowded  thoroughfare  below. 
"There  are  some  of  the  flying  phantoms  of  life — the  men 
and  women  who  are  God-oblivious,  and  who  are  therefore 
no  more  actually  living  than  the  shadows  of  Al-Kyris. 
They  shall  pass  as  a  breath  and  be  no  more;  and  this 
roaring,  trafficking  metropolis— this  immediate  center  of 
civilization,  shall  ere  long  disappear  off  the  surface  of 
the  earth,  and  leave  not  a  stone  to  mark  the  spot  where 
once  it  stood.  So  have  thousands  of  such  cities  fallen 
since  this  planet  was  flung  into  space,  and  even  so  shall 
thousands  still  fall.  Learning,  civilization,  science.prog- 
ress— these  things  exist  merely  for  the  training  and  ed- 
ucation of  a  chosen  few;  and  out  of -many  earth-centuries 
and  generations  of  men  shall  be  won  only  a  very  small 
company  of  angels !  Be  glad  that  you  have  fathomed 


516  "ARDATH" 

the  mystery  of  your  own  life's  purposes ;  for  you  are  now 
as  much  a  positive  identity  among  vanishing  specters  as 
you  were  when  on  the  field  of  'Ardath'  you  witnessed 
and  took  part  in  the  mirage  of  your  past. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  MISSING   RECORD. 

HE  spoke  the  last  words  with  deep  feeling  and  ear- 
nestness, and  Alwyn,  meeting  his  clear,  grave,  brilliant 
eyes,  was  more  than  ever  impressed  by  the  singular  dig- 
nity and  overpowering  magnetism  of  his  presence.  Re- 
membering how  insufficiently  he  had  realized  this  man's 
worth  when  he  had  first  sought  him  out  in  his  monastic 
retreat,  he  was  struck  by  a  sudden  sense  of  remorse,  and 
leaning  across  the  table  gently  touched  his  hand. 

"How  greatly  I  wronged  you  once,  Heliobas!"  he  said 
penitently,  with  a  tremor  of  appeal  in  his  voice.  "For- 
give me,  will  you?  Though  I  shall  never  forgive  myself!" 

Heliobas  smiled,  and  cordially  pressed  the  extended 
hand  in  his  own. 

"Nay,  there  is  nothing  to  forgive,  my  friend,"  he  an- 
swered cheerfully;  "and  nothing  to  regret.  Your  doubts 
of  me  were  very  natural — indeed,  viewed  by  the  world's 
standard  of  opinion,  much  more  natural  than  your  pres- 
ent faith;  for  faith  is  always  a  supernatural  instinct. 
Would  you  be  practically  sensible  according  to  modern 
social  theories?  Then  learn  to  suspect  everybody  and 
everything,  even  your  best  friend's  good  intentions!" 

He  laughed,  and  the  luncheon  being  concluded  he 
rose  from  table  and,  taking  an  easy-chair  nearer  the  win- 
dow, motioned  Alwyn  to  do  the  same. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  continued.  "We  may 
not  meet  again  for  years.  You  are  entering  on  a  difficult 
career,  and  a  few  hints  from  one  who  knows  and  thor- 
oughly understands  your  position  may  possibly  be  of 
use  to  you.  In  the  first  place,  then,  let  me  ask  you, 
have  you  told  any  one  save  me  the  story  of  your  'Ar- 
dath' adventure?" 


A  MISSING  RECORD  517 

"One    friend    only — my    old    school    comrade,     Frank 
Villiers, "   replied  Alwyn. 

"And  what  does  he  say   about  it?" 

"Oh,  he  thinks  it  was  a  dream  from  beginning  to  end," 
and  Alwyn  smiled  a  little.  "He  believes  that  I  set 
out  on  my  journey  with  my  brain  already  heated  to  an 
imaginative  excess,  and  that  the  whole  thing,  even  my 
angel's  presence,  was  a  pure  delusion  of  my  own  over- 
wrought fancy — a  curious  and  wonderful  delusion,  but 
always  a  delusion." 

"He  is  a  very  excellent  fellow  to  judge  you  so  le- 
niently," observed  Heliobas  composedly.  "Most  people 
would  call  you  mad." 

"Mad?"  exclaimed  Alwyn  hotly;  "why,  I  am  as  sane 
as  any  man  in  London!" 

"Saner,  I  should  say,"  replied  Heliobas,  smiling. 
"Compared  with  some  of  the  eminently  'practical'  spec- 
ulating maniacs  that  howl  and  struggle  among  the  fluc- 
tuating currents  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  for  instance, 
you  are  indeed  a  marvel  of  sound  and  wholesome  men- 
tal capability!  But  let  us  view  the  matter  coolly.  You 
must  not  expect  such  an  exceptional  experience  as  yours 
to  be  believed  in  by  ordinary  persons.  Because  the  ma- 
jority of  people,  being  utterly  unspiritual  and  worldly, 
have  no  such  experiences,  they  therefore  deem  them  im- 
possible. They  are  the  gold-fish  born  in  a  bowl,  who 
have  no  consciousness  of  the  existence  of  an  ocean.  More- 
over, you  have  no  proofs  of  the  truth  of  your  narrative, 
beyond  the  change  in  your  own  life  and  disposition;  and 
that  can  be  easily  referred  to  various  other  causes.  You 
spoke  of  having  gathered  one  of  the  miracle  flowers  on 
the  prophet's  field.  May  I  see  it?" 

Silently  Alwyn  drew  from  his  breast-pocket  the  velvet 
case  in  which  he  always  kept  the  cherished  blossom, 
and,  taking  it  tenderly  out,  placed  it  in  his  compan- 
ion's hand. 

"An  immortelle,"  said  Heliobas  softly,  while  the  flower, 
uncurling  its  silvery  petals  in  the  warmth  of  his  palm, 
opened  star-like  and  white  as  snow.  "An  immortelle — 
rare,  and  possibly  unique!  That  is  all  the  world  would 
say  of  it.  It  cannot  be  matched;  it  will  not  fade — true! 
but  you  will  get  no  one  to  believe  that.  Frown  not, 
good  poet!  I  want  you  to  consider  me  for  the  moment 


"AkDATH" 

a  practical  worldling,  bent  on  driving  you  from  the 
spiritual  position  you  have  taken  up;  and  you  will  see 
how  necessary  it  is  for  you  to  keep  the  secret  of  your 
Dwn  enlightenment  to 'yourself,  or  at  least  only  hint  at 
it  through  the  parables  of  poesy." 

He  gave  back  the  "Ardath"  blossom  to  its  owner  with 
reverent  care,  and  when  Alwyn  had  as  reverently  put 
it  by  he  resumed  : 

"Your  friend  Villiers  has  offered  you  a  perfectly  log- 
ical and  common-sense  solution  of  the  mystery  of  'Ardath' 
— one  which,  if  you  choose  to  accept  it,  would  drive  you 
back  into  skepticism  as  easily  as  a  strong  wind  blows  a 
straw.  Only  see  how  simply  the  intricate  problem  is 
unraveled  by  this  means!  You,  a  man  of  ardent  and 
imaginative  temperament,  made  more  or  less  unhappy  by 
the  doctrines  of  materialism,  come  to  me,  Heliobas,  a 
Chaldean  student  of  the  higher  philosophies,  an  individ- 
ual whose  supposed  mysterious  power  and  inexplicably 
studious  way  of  life  entitles  him  to  be  considered  by  the 
world  at  large  an  impostor!  Now,  don't  look  so  indig- 
nant!" and  he  laughed;  "I  am  merely  discussing  the 
question  from  the  point  of  view  that  would  be  sure  to 
be  adopted  by  'wise'  modern  society.  Thus:  I,  Heliobas, 
the  impostor,  take  advantage  of  your  state  of  mind  to 
throw  you  into  a  trance,  in  which,  by  occult  means,  you 
see  the  vision  of  an  angel,  who  bids  you  meet  her  at  a 
place  called  'Ardath;'  and  you  also,  in  your  hypnotized 
condition, write  a  poem,  which  you  entitle  'Nourhalma. ' 
Then  I — always  playing  my  own  little  underhand  game! 
— read  you  portions  of  'Esdras,'  and  prove  to  you  that 
'Ardath'  exists,  while  I  delicately  suggest,  if  I  do  not 
absolutely  command,  your  going  thither.  You  go,  but 
I,  still  by  magic  power,  retain  my  influence  over 
you.  You  visit  Elzear,  a  hermit,  whom  we  will,  for  the 
sake  of  the  present  argument,  call  my  accomplice.  He 
reads  between  the  lines  of  the  letter  you  deliver  to  him 
from  me,  and  he  understands  its  secret  import.  He  con- 
tinues, no  matter  how,  your  delusion.  You  broke  your 
fast  with  him,  and  surely  it  was  easy  for  him  to  place 
some  potent  drug  in  the  wine  he  gave  you  which  made 
you  dream  the  rest!  Nay,  viewed  from  this  standpoint, 
it  is  open  to  question  whether  you  ever  went  to  the 
field  of  'Ardath'  at  all,  but  merely  dreamed  ycu  did 


A   MISSING   RECORD  519 

You  see  how  admirably  I  can,  with  little  trouble,  dis- 
prove the  whole  story,  and  make  myself  out  to  be  the 
veriest  charlatan  and  trickster  that  ever  duped  his  credu- 
lous fellow-man!  How  do  you  like  my  practical  dissection 
of  your  new-found  joys?" 

Alwyn  was  gazing  at  him  with  puzzled  and  anxious 
eyes. 

"I  do  not  like  it  at  all,"  he  murmured  in  a  pained 
tone.  "It  is  an  insidious  semblance  of  truth;  but  I  know 
it  is  not  the  truth  itself!" 

"Why,  how  obstinate  you  are!"  said  Heliobas  good- 
humoredly,  with  a  quick,  flashing  glance  at  him.  "You 
insist  on  seeing  things  in  a  directly  reverse  way  to  that 
in  which  the  world  sees  them!  How  can  you  be  so  fool- 
ish? To  the  world,  your  'Ardath'  adventure  is  the  sem- 
blance of  truth,  and  only  man's  opinion  thereon  is  worth 
trusting  as  the  truth  itself." 

Over  the  wistful,  brooding  thoughtfulness  of  Alwyn's 
countenance  swept  a  sudden  light  of  magnificent  resolu- 
tion. 

"Heliobas,  do  not  jest  with  me!"  he  cried  passion- 
ately. "I  know,  better  perhaps,  than  most  men,  how 
divine  things  can  be  argued  away  by  the  jargon  of 
tongues,  till  heart  and  brain  grow  weary.  I  know,  God 
help  me!  how  the  noblest  ideals  of  the  soul  can  be  swept 
down  and  dispersed  into  blank  ruin,  by  the  specious  ar- 
guments of  cold-blooded  casuists;  but  I  also  know,  by 
a  supreme  inner  knowledge  beyond  all  human  proving, 
that  GOD  EXISTS,  and  with  his  Being  exist  likewise 
all  splendors,  great  and  small,  spiritual,  and  material — 
splendors  vaster  than  our  intelligence  can  reach — ideals 
loftier  than  imagination  can  depict!  I  want  no  proofs  of 
this,  save  those  that  burn  in  my  own  individual  con- 
sciousness; I  do  not  need  a  miserable  taper  of  human 
reason  to  help  me  to  discern  the  sun.  I,  of  my  own 
choice,  prayer,  and  hope,  voluntarily  believe  in  Gcd,  in 
Christ,  in  angels,  in  all  things  beautiful  and  pure  and 
grand.  Let  the  world  and  its  ephemeral  opinions  wither, 
I  will  not  be  shaken  down  from  the  first  step  of  the  lad- 
der whereon  one  climbs  to  heaven." 

His  features  were  radiant  with  fervor  and  feeling,  his 
eyes  brilliant  with  the  kindling  inward  light  of  noblest 
aspiration,  a.qd  Hqliobas,  who  had  watched  him  intently, 


now  bent  toward  him  with  a    grave  gesture    of  the  gen- 
tlest homage. 

"How  strong  is  he  whom  an  angel's  love  makes  glori- 
ous!" he  said.  "We  are  partners  in  the  same  destiny, 
my  friend,  and  I  have  but  spoken  to  you  as  the  world 
might  speak,  to  prepare  you  for  opposition.  The  spe- 
cious arguments  of  men  confront  us  at  every  turn,  in 
every  book,  in  every  society,  and  it  is  not  always  that 
we  are  ready  to  meet  them.  As  a  rule,  silence  on  all 
matters  of  personal  faith  is  best.  Let  your  life  bear 
witness  for  you;  it  shall  thunder  loud  oracles  when  your 
mortal  lips  are  dumb." 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  went  on:  "You  have  desired 
to  know  the  secret  of  the  active  and  often  miraculous 
power  of  the  special  form  of  religion  I  and  my  brethren 
follow.  Well,  it  is  all  contained  in  Christ  and  Christ 
only.  His  is  the  only  true  spiritualism  in  the  world  ; 
there  was  never  any  before  he  came.  We  obey  Christ 
in  the  simple  rules  he  preached — Christ  according  to  his 
own  enunciated  wish  and  will.  Moreover  we — that  is, 
our  fraternity — received  our  commission  from  Christ  him- 
self in  person." 

Alwyn  started;  his  eyes  dilated  with  amazement  and 
awe. 

"From  Christ  himself  in  person?"  he  echoed  incredu 
lously. 

"Even  so!"  returned  Heliobas  calmly.  "What  do 
you  suppose  our  divine  Master  was  about  during  the 
years  between  his  appearance  among  the  rabbis  of  the 
temple  and  the  commencement  of  his  public  preaching? 
Do  you,  can  you  imagine  with  the  rest  of  the  purblind 
world  that  he  would  have  left  his  marvelous  gospel  in 
the  charge  of  a  few  fishermen  and  common  folk  only?" 

"I  never  thought — I  never  inquired,"  began  Alwyn 
hurriedly. 

"No!"  and  Heliobas  smiled  rather  sadly.  "Few  men 
do  think  or  inquire  very  far  on  sacred  subjects!  Listen, 
for  what  I  have  to  say  to  you  will  but  strengthen  you  in 
your  faith,  and  you  will  need  more  than  all  the  strength 
of  the  four  evangelists  to  bear  you  stiffly  up  against  the 
suicidal  negation  of  this  present  disastrous  epoch.  Ages 
ago — ay,  more  than  six  or  seven  thousand  years  ago, 
there  were  certain  communities  of  men  in  the  East, 


A   MISSING   RECORD  531 

scholars,  sages,  poets,  astronomers,  and  scientists,  who, 
desiring  to  give  themselves  up  entirely  to  study  and  re- 
search, withdrew  from  the  world,  and  formed  themselves 
into  fraternities,  dividing  whatever  goods  they  had  in  com- 
mon, and  living  together  under  one  roof  as  the  brother- 
hoods of  the  Catholic  Church  do  to  this  day.  The  pri- 
mal object  of  these  men's  investigations  was  a  search 
after  the  divine  cause  of  creation;  and  as  it  was  under- 
taken wi«;h  prayer,  penance,  humility,  and  reverence, 
much  en1ightenment  was  vouchsafed  to  them,  and  secrets 
of  science,  both  spiritual  and  material,  were  discovered 
by  them— secrets  which  the  wisest  of  modern  sages  know 
nothing  of  as  yet.  Out  of  these  fraternities  came  many 
of  the  prophets  and  preachers  of  the  Old  Testament — 
Esdras  f^r  one,  Isaiah  for  another.  They  were  the 
chronicle's  of  many  now  forgotten  events;  they  kept 
the  history  of  the  times  as  far  as  it  was  possible,  and 
in  their  ancient  records  your  city  of  Al-Kyris  is  men- 
tioned as  a  great  and  populous  place  which  was  sud- 
denly destroyed  by  the  bursting  out  of  a  volcano  be- 
neath its  foundations.  Yes!" — this  as  Alwyn  uttered 
an  eager  exclamation — "your  vision  was  a  perfectly 
faithful  reflection  of  the  manner  in  which  it  perished. 
I  must  tell  you,  however,  that  nothing  concerning  its 
kings  or  great  men  has  been  preserved— only  a  few  allu- 
sions to  one  Hyspiros,  a  writer  of  tragedies,  whose  genius 
seems  to  have  corresponded  to  that  of  our  Shakespeare 
of  today.  The  name  of  'Sah-luma1  is  nowhere  extant." 

A  burning  wave  of  color  flushed  Alwyn's    face,  but  he 
was  silent.      Heliobas  went  on  gently: 

"At  a  very  early  period  of  their  formation  these  fra- 
ternities I  tell  you  of  were  in  possession  of  most  of  the 
material  scientific  facts  of  the  present  day— such  things 
as  the  electric  wire  and  battery,  the  phonograph,  the 
telephone,  and  other  'new'  discoveries,  being  perfectly 
familiar  to  them.  The  spiritual  manifestations  of  nature 
were  mcnre  intricate  and  difficult  to  penetrate,  and  though 
they  knew  that  material  effects  could  only  be  produced 
by  spiritual  causes,  they  worked  in  the  dark  as  it  were, 
only  groping  toward  the  light.  However,  the  wisdom 
and  purity  of  the  lives  they  led  was  not  without  its 
effect.  Emperors  and  kings  sought  their  advice,  and 
them  great  stores  cff  wealth,  which  they  divided, 


522  "ARDATH' 

according  to  rule,  into  equal    portions  and  used    for  the 
benefit  of  those  in  need,  willing  the  remainder    to  their 
successors,  so  that,  at  the  present  time,  the  few  brother- 
hoods that  are  left  hold  immense    treasures  accumulated 
through  many   centuries — treasures    which  are  theirs  to 
share  with    one    another    in  the    prosecution  of    discov- 
eries   and    the    carrying-on     of  good    works    in    secret. 
Ages  before  the  coming  of  Christ,  one  Aselzion,  a  man  of 
austere  and  strict  life,  belonging  to  a  fraternity  stationed 
in  Syria,  was  engaged  in    working  out  a    calculation  of 
the  average  quantity  of  heat  and  light  per  minute  by  the 
sun's  rays,  when,  glancing  upward  at  the    sky,  the  hour 
being  clear  noon-day,  he  beheld  a  cross    of  crimson  hue 
suspended  in  the  sky,  whereon  hung  the  cloudy  semblance 
of  a  human  figure.      Believing  himself  to  be    the  victim 
of  some  optical  delusion,  he  hastened    to  fetch  some    of 
his  brethren,  who,  at  a    glance,  perceived    the  self-same 
marvel,  which  presently  was  viewed  with   reverent  won- 
der by  the  whole  assembled  community.      For  one  entire 
hour  the  symbol  stayed,  then  vanished  suddenly,  a  noise 
like  thunder  accompanying  its  departure.    Within  a  few 
months  of  its    appearance    messages    came  from  all    the 
other    fraternities    stationed    in  Egypt,     in    Greece,     in 
Spain,  in  Etruria,    stating  that    they  also  had    seen  this 
singular  sight,  and  suggesting  that  from     henceforth  the 
cross  should  be  adopted  by  the    united  brotherhoods    as 
a  holy    sign  of    some    deity    unrevealed — a    proposition 
that  was  at  once    agreed  to.      This    happened    some  five 
thousand  years  before  Christ,    and  hence  the  sign  of  the 
cross    became  known    in  all,    or  nearly    all,  the    ancient 
rites  of  worship,  the  multitude  considering  that,  because 
it  was    the    emblem  of  the  philosophical     fraternities,   it 
must  have  some    sacred    meaning.      So  it    was    used    in 
the  service  of  Serapis  and  the  adoration  of  the  Nile-god. 
It  has  been  found  carved    on    Egyptian    discs  and    obe- 
lisks, and  it  was  included  among  the  numerous  symbols 
of  Saturn." 

He  paused.  Alwyn  was  listening  with  eager,  almost 
breathless  attention. 

"After  this,"  went  on  Heliobas,  "came  a  long  period 
of  prefiguremsnts — typas  and  suggestions,  that,  running 
through  all  the  various  religions  that  sprang  up  swiftly 
and  as  swiftly  decayed,  hinted  vaguely  at  the  birth  of  a 


A  MISSING  RECORD  523 

child,  offspring  of  a  pure  virgin,  a  miraculously  gener- 
ated GoJ-in-Man,  an  absolutely  sinless  one  who  should 
be  sent  to  remind  humanity  of  its  intended  final  high 
destiny,  and  who  should,  by  precept  and  example,  draw 
the  earth  nearer  to  Heaven.  I  would  here  ask  you  to 
note  what  most  people  seem  to  forget — namely,  that 
since  Christ  came  all  these  shadowy  types  and  prefigure- 
ments  have  ceased — a  notable  fact,  even  to  skeptical 
minds.  The  world  waited  dimly  for  something,  it  knew 
not  what.  The  various  fraternities  of  the  cross  waited 
also,  feeling  conscious  that  some  great  era  of  hope  and 
happiness  was  about  to  dawn  for  all  men.  When  the 
star  in  the  East  arose,  announcing  the  Redeemer's  birth, 
there  were  some  forty  or  fifty  of  these  fraternities  exist- 
ing, three  in  the  ancient  province  of  Chaldea,  from 
whence  a  company  of  the  wisest  seers  and  sages  were 
sent  to  acknowledge  by  their  immediate  homage  the 
Divinity  born  in  Bethlehem.  These  were  the  'wise  men 
out  of  the  East'  mentioned  in  the  Gospel.  We  knew 
— I  say  we,  because  I  am  descended  directly  from  one 
of  these  men  and  have  always  belonged  to  their  broth- 
erhood— we  knew  it  was  DIVINITY  that  had  come  among 
us,  and  in  our  parchment  chronicles  there  is  a  long  ac- 
count of  how  the  deserts  of  Arabia  rang  with  music 
that  holy  night;  what  a  wealth  of  flowers  sprang  up  in 
places  that  had  hitherto  lain  waste  and  dry;  how  the  sky 
blazed  with  rings  of  roseate  radiance;  hew  fair  and 
wondrous  shapes  were  seen  flitting  across  the  heavens! 
the  road  of  communication  between  men  and  angels  be- 
ing opened  at  a  touch  by  the  Savior's  advent." 

Again  he  paused,  and  after  a  little  silence  resurred: 
"Then  we  added  the  star  to  our  existing  symbol  the 
cross,  and  became  the  Brotherhood  of  the  Cross  nnd 
Star.  As  such,  after  the  Redeemer's  birth,  we  put  all 
other  matters  from  us,  and  set  ourselves  to  chronicle  his 
life  and  actions,  to  pray  and  wait,  unknowing  what 
might  be  the  course  of  his  work  or  will.  One  day  he 
came  to  us.  Ah!  happy  those  whom  he  found  watching, 
and  whose  privilege  it  was  to  receive  their  divine  guest !" 
His  voice  had  a  passionate  thrill  within  it  as  of 
tears,  and  Alwyn's  heart  beat  fast.  What  a  wonderful 
new  chapter  was  here  revealed  of  the  old  story  of  the 
only  perfect  life  on  earth! 


524  "ARDATH" 

"One  of  the  fraternities,"  went  on  Heliobas,  "had 
its  habitation  in  the  wilderness  where,  some  years  later, 
the  Master  wandered  fasting  forty  days  and  forty  nights. 
To  that  solitary  abode  of  prayerful  men  he  came,  when 
he  was  about  twenty-three  years  of  age — the  record  of 
his  visit  has  been  reverently  penned  and  preserved — and 
from  it  we  know  how  fair  and  strong  he  was ;  how  stately 
and  like  a  king;  how  gracious  and  noble  in  bearing; 
how  far  exceeding  in  beauty  all  the  sons  of  men!  His 
speech  was  music  that  thrilled  to  the  heart.  The  won- 
drous glory  of  his  eyes  gave  life  to  those  who  knelt  and 
worshiped  him;  his  touch  was  pardon;  his  smile  was 
peace!  From  his  own  lips  a  store  of  wisdom  was  set 
down,  and  prophecies  concerning  the  fate  of  his  own 
teaching  which  then  he  uttered  are  only  now,  at  this 
very  day,  being  fulfilled.  Therefore  we  know  the  time 
has  come — "  he  broke  off,  and  sighed  deeply. 

"The  time  has  come  for  what?"  demanded  Alwyn 
eagerly. 

"For  certain  secrets  to  be  made  known  to  the  world 
which  till  now  have  bean  kept  sacred,"  returned  Helio- 
bas. "You  must  understand  that  the  chief  vow  of  the 
Fraternity  of  the  Cross  and  Star  is  secrecy — a  promise 
never  to  divulge  the  mysteries  of  God  and  nature  to 
those  who  are  unfitted  to  receive  such  high  instruction. 
It  is  Christ's  own  saying:  'A  faithless  and  perverse  gen- 
eration asketh  for  a  sign,  and  no  sign  shall  be  given." 
You  surely  are  aware  how,  even  in  the  simplest  discov- 
eries of  material  science  the  world's  attitude  is  at  first 
vone  of  jeering  incredulity.  How  much  more  so,  then, 
in  things  which  pertain  solely  to  the  spiritual  side  of 
existence!  But  God  will  not  be  mocked,  and  it  behooves 
us  to  think  long,  and  pray  much,  before  we  unveil  even 
one  of  the  lesser  mysteries  to  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar. 
Christ  knew  the  immutable  condition  of  free-will;  he 
knew  that  faith,  humility,  and  obedience  are  the  hard- 
est of  all  hard  virtues  to  the  self-sufficient  arrogance  of 
man,  and  we  learned  from  him  that  his  Gospel,  simple 
though  it  is,  would  be  denied,  disputed,  quarreled  over, 
shamefully  distorted,  and  almost  lost  sight  of  in  a  mul- 
titude of  'free'  opinions;  that  his  life-giving  truth  would 
be  obscured  and  rendered  incomprehensible  by  the  will 
ful  obstinacy  of  human  arguments  concerning  it.  Christ 


A  MISSING  RECORD  525 

has  no  part  whatever  in  the  distinctly  human  atrocities 
that  have  been  perpetrated  under  cover  of  his  name, 
such  as  the  inquisition,  the  wars  of  the  crusaders,  the 
slaughter  of  martyrs,  and  the  degrading  bitternesses  of 
sects.  In  all  these  things  Christ's  teaching  is  entirely 
set  aside  and  lost.  He  knew  how  the  proud  of  this  world 
would  misread  his  words.  That  is  why  he  came  to  men 
who  for  thousands  of  years  in  succession  had  steadily 
practiced  the  qualities  he  most  desired — namely,  faith, 
humility,  and  obedience,  and  finding  them  ready  to  carry 
out  his  will,  he  left  with  them  the  mystic  secrets  of  his 
doctrine,  which  he  forbade  them  to  give  to  the  multitude 
till  men's  quarrels  and  disputations  had  called  his  very 
existence  into  doubt.  Then,  through  pure  channels  and 
by  slow  degrees,  we  were  to  proclaim  to  the  world  his 
last  message." 

Alwyn's  eyes  rested  on  the  speaker  in  reverent  yet 
anxious  inquiry. 

"Surely,"  he  said,  "you  will  begin  to  proclaim  it 
now?" 

"Yes,  we  shall  begin,"  answered  Heliobas,  his  brow 
darkening  as  with  a  cloud  of  troubled  thought,  "but  we 
are  in  a  certain  difficulty,  for  we  may  not  speak  in  pub- 
lic ourselves,  nor  write  for  publication — our  ancient  vow 
binds  us  to  this,  and  ma}'  not  be  broken.  Moreover,  the 
Master  gave  us  a  strange  command — namely,  that  when 
the  hour  came  for  the  gradual  declaration  of  the  secret 
of  his  doctrine,  we  should  entrust  it  in  the  first  place  to 
the  hands  of  one  who  should  be  young — in  the  world, 
yet  not  of  it — simple  as  a  child,  yet  wise  with  the  wis- 
dom of  faith;  of  little  or  no  estimation  among  men,  and 
who  should  have  the  distinctive  quality  of  loving  nothing 
in  earth  or  heaven  more  dearly  than  His  name  and  hon- 
or. For  this  unqiue  being  we  have  searched  and  are 
searching  still.  We  can  find  many  who  are  young  and 
both  wise  and  innocent,  but  alas!  one  who  loves  the  un- 
seen Christ  actually  more  than  all  things — this  is  indeed 
a  perplexity!  I  have  fancied  of  late  that  I  have  discov- 
ered in  my  own  circle,  that  is,  among  those  who  have 
been  drawn  to  study  God  and  nature  according  to  my 
views,  one  who  makes  swift  and  steady  progress  in  the 
higher  sciences,  and  who,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to 
trace,  really  loves  our  Master  with  singular  adoration 


526  "ARDATH" 

above  ail  joys  of  earth  and  hopes  of  heaven;  but  I 
not  be  sure,  aad  there  are  many  tests  and  trials  to  be 
gone  through  before  we  dare  bid  this  little  human  liwnp 
of  love  shine  forth  upon  the  raging  storm." 

He  was  silent  a  moment;   then  went  on  in  a  low  t^ne, 
as  though  speaking  to  himself: 

"When  the  mechanism  of  this  universe  is  explained 
in  such  wise  that  no  discovery  of  science  can  ever  dis- 
prove, but  must  rather  support  it,  when  the  essence  of 
the  immortal  soul  in  man  is  described  in'clear  and  con- 
cise language,  and  when  the  marvelous  action  of  spirit 
on  matter  is  shown  to  be  actually  existent  and  neve*  idle, 
then,  if  the  world  still  doubts  and  denies  God,  it  will 
only  have  itself  to  blame!  But  to  you,"  and  he  rusumed 
his  ordinary  tone,  "all  things,  through  your  angel's 
love,  are  made  more  or  less  plain,  and  I  have  told  you 
the  history  of  our  fraternity  merely  that  you  may  under- 
stand how  it  is  we  know  so  much  that  the  outer  world 
is  ignorant  of.  There  are  very  few  of  us  left  nowadays, 
only  a  dozen  brotherhoods  scattered  far  apart  on  differ- 
ent portions  of  the  earth,  but,  such  as  we  ake,  we  are 
all  united,  and  have  never,  through  these  eighteen  hun- 
dred years,  had  a  shade  of  difference  in  opinion  concern- 
ing the  divinity  of  Christ.  Through  him  we  have  learned 
true  spiritualism,  and  all  the  miraculous  power  which 
is  the  result  of  it,  and  as  there  is  a  great  deal  of  false 
spiritualism  rampant  just  now,  I  may  as  well  give  you 
a  few  hints  whereby  you  may  distinguish  it  at  once. 
Imprimis:  if  a  so-called  spiritualist  tells  >ou  that  he 
can  summon  spirits  who  will  remove  tables  and  chairs, 
write  letters,  play  the  piano,  and  rap  on  thi.  walls,  he  is 
a  charlatan.  For  spirits  can  touch  nothing  corporeal 
unless  they  take  corporeal  shape  for  the  moment,  as  in 
the  case  of  your  angelic  Edris.  But  in  this  condition, 
they  are  only  seen  by  the  one  person  whom  they  visit — 
never  by  several  persons  at  once — remembev  that!  Nor 
can  they  keep  their  corporeal  state  long,  except,  by  their 
express  wish  and  will,  they  should  seek  to  rnter  abso- 
lutely into  the  life  of  humanity,  which,  I  muat  tell  you, 
has  been  done,  but  so  seldom,  that  in  all  the  history  of 
Christian  spirituality  there  are  only  about  fouv.  examples. 
Here  are  six  tests  for  all  the  'spiritualists'  you  may 
chance  to  meet: 


A  MISSING   RECORD  527 

"First.  Do  they  serve  themselves  more  than  others? 
If  so,  they  are  entirely  lacking  in  spiritual  attributes. 

"Secondly.  Will  they  take  money  for  their  professed 
knowledge?  If  so,  they  condemn  themselves  as  paid 
tricksters. 

"  Thirdly.  Are  they  men  and  women  of  commonplace 
and  thoroughly  material  life?  Then  it  is  plain  they  can- 
not influence  others  to  strive  for  a  higher  existence. 

"Fourthly.  Do  they  love  notoriety?  If  they  do,  the 
gates  of  the  unseen  world  are  shut  upon  them. 

"Fifthly.  Do  they  disagree  among  themselves,  and 
speak  against  one  another?  If  so,  they  contradict  by 
their  own  behavior  all  the  laws  of  spiritual  force  and 
harmony. 

"Sixthly  and  lastly.  Do  they  reject  Christ?  If  they 
do,  they  know  nothing  whatever  about  spiritualism,  there 
being  none  without  him.  Again,  when  you  observe 
professing  psychists  living  in  any  eccentric  way,  so  as 
to  cause  their  trifling  every-day  actions  to  be  remarked 
and  commented  upon,  you  may  be  sure  the  real  power 
is  not  in  them — as,  for  instance,  people  who  become 
vegetarians  because  they  imagine  that  by  so  doing  they 
will  see  spirits;  people  who  adopt  a  singular  mode  of 
dress  in  order  to  appear  different  from  their  fellow-crea- 
tures; people  who  are  lachrymose,  dissatisfied,  or  in 
any  way  morbid.  Never  forget  that  true  spiritualism 
engenders  health  of  body  and  mind, serenity  and  bright- 
ness of  aspect,  cheerfulness  and  perfect  contentment, 
and  that  its  influence  on  those  who  are  brought  within 
its  radius  is  distinctly  marked  and  beneficial.  The  chief 
characteristics  of  a  true,  that  is,  Christian,  spiritualist 
is,  that  he  or  she  cannot  be  shaken  from  faith,  or  thrown 
into  despair  by  any  earthly  misfortune  whatsoever.  And 
while  on  this  subject,  I  will  show  you  where  the  existing 
forms  of  Christianity  depart  from  the  teachings  of  Christ: 
First,  in  lack  of  self-abnegation;  secondly,  in  lack  of 
unity;  thirdly,  in  failing  to  prove  to  the  multitude  that 
death  is  not  destruction,  but  simply  change.  Nothing 
really  dies,  and  the  priests  should  make  use  of  science 
to  illustrate  this  fact  to  the  people.  Each  of  these  vir- 
tues has  its  miracle-effect;  unity  is  strength;  self-abne- 
gation attracts  the  divine  influences,  and  death,  viewed 
as  a  glorious  transformation,  which  it  is,  inspires  the 


528  "ARDATH" 

soul  with  a  sense  of  larger  life.  Sects  are  unchristian. 
There  should  be  only  one  vast  united  church  for  all  the 
Christian  world — a  church,  whose  pure  doctrine  should 
include  all  the  hints  received  from  nature  and  the  scien- 
tific working  of  the  universe,  the  marvels  c-f  the  stars 
and  the  planetary  systems,  the  wonders  of  plants  and 
minerals,  the  magic  of  light,  and  color  and  music — and 
'the  true  miracles  of  spirit  and  matter  should  be  inquired 
into  reverently,  prayerfully,  and  always  with  the  deepest 
humility,  while  the  first  act  of  worship  performed  every 
holy  morn  and  eve  should  be  gratitude!  Gratitude, 
gratitude!  Ay,  even  for  a  sorrow  we  should  be  thank- 
ful; it  may  conceal  a  blessing  we  wot  not  of!  For  sight, 
for  sense,  for  touch,  for  the,  natural  beauty  of  this  pres- 
ent world;  for  the  smile  on  a  face  we  love;  for  the  dig- 
nity and  responsibility  of  our  lives,  and  the  immortality 
with  which  we  are  endowed — O  my  friend!  would  that 
every  breath  we  draw  could  in  some  way  express  to  the 
all-loving  Creator  our  adoring  recognition  of  his  count- 
less benefits!" 

Carried  away  by  his  inward  fervor,his  eyes  flashed  with 
extraordinary  brilliancy,  his  countenance  was  grand,  in- 
spired, and  beautiful,  and  Alwyn  gazed  at  him  in  won- 
dering, fascinated  silence.  Here  was  a  man  who  had 
indeed  made  the  best  of  his  manhood!  What  a  life  vias 
his!  how  satisfying  and  serene!  Master  of  himself,  he 
was,  as  it  were,  master  of  the  world.  All  nature  minis- 
tered to  him,  and  the  pageant  of  passing  history  was  as 
a  mere  brilliant  picture  painted  for  his  instruction — a 
picture  on  which  he,  looking,  learned  all  that  it  was 
needful  for  him  to  know.  And,  concerning  this  mystic 
Brotherhood  of  the  Cross  and  Star,  what  treasures  of 
wisdom  they  must  have  secreted  in  their  chronicles 
through  so  many  thousands  of  years!  What  a  privilege 
it  would  be  to  explore  such  world-forgotten  tracks  of 
time  !  Yielding  to  a  sudden  impulse,  Alwyn  spoke  his 
thought  aloud. 

"Heliobas, "  he  said,  "tell  me,  could  not  I,  too,  be- 
come a  member  of  your  fraternity?" 

Heliobas  smiled  kindly.  "You  could,  assuredly,"  he 
replied,  "if  you  chose  to  submit  to  fifteen  years'  severe 
trial  and  study.  But  I  think  a  different  sphere  of  duty 
is  designed  for  yo«.  Wait  and  see!  The  rules  of  our 


A  MISSING   RECORD  529 

order  forbid  the  disclosure  of  knowledge  attained,  save 
through  the  medium  of  others  not  connected  with  us, 
ind  we  may  not  write  out  our  discoveries  for  open  pub- 
lication. Such  a  vow  would  be  the  death-blow  to  your 
poetical  labors,  and  the  command  your  angel  gave  you 
points  distinctly  to  a  life  lived  in  the  world  of  men,  not 
out  of  it." 

"But  you  yourself  are  in  the  world  of  men  at  this 
moment,"  argued  Alwyn,  "and  you  are  free.  Did  you 
*ot  tell  me  you  were  bound  for  Mexico?" 

"Does  going  to  Mexico  constitute  liberty?"  laughed 
Heliobas.  "I  assure  you  I  am  closely  constrained  by 
my  vows  wherever  I  am,  as  closely  as  though  I  were 
shut  in  our  turret  among  the  heights  of  Caucasus!  I 
am  going  to  Mexico  solely  to  receive  some  manuscripts 
from  one  of  our  brethren  who  is  dying  there.  He  has  lived 
as  a  recluse,  like  Elzear  of  Melyana,  and  to  him  have 
been  confided  certain  important  chronicles,  which  must 
be  taken  into  trustworthy  hands  for  preservation.  Such 
is  the  object  of  my  journey.  But  now,  tell  me,  have 
you  thoroughly  understood  all  I  have  said  to  5'ou?" 

"Perfectly!"  rejoined  Alwyn.  "My  way  seems  vert 
clear  before  me — a  happy  way  enough,  too,  if  it  were  not 
quite  so  lonely!"  And  he  sighed  a  little. 

Heliobas  rose  and  laid  one  hand  kindly  on  his  shoul- 
der. 

"Courage!"  he  said  softly.  "Bear  with  the  loneliness 
a  while — it  may  not  last  long!" 

A  slight  thrill  ran  through  Alwyn's  nerves.  He  felt 
as  though  he  were  on  the  giddy  verge  of  some  great  and 
unexpected  joy  ;  his  heart  beat  quickly  and  his  eyes  grew 
dim.  Mastering  the  strange  emotion  with  an  effort,  he 
was  reluctantly  beginning  to  think  it  was  time  to  take 
his  leave,  when  Heliobas,  who  had  been  watching  him 
intently,  spoke  in  a  cheerful,  friendly  tone: 

"Now  that  we  have  had  our  serious  talk  out,  Mr. 
Alwyn,  suppose  you  come  with  me  and  hear  the  Ange- 
Demon  of  music  at  St.  James*  Hall?  Will  you?  H« 
can  bestow  upon  you  a  perfect  benediction  of  sweet 
sound,  a  benediction  not  to  be  despised  in  this  worka- 
day world  of  clamor,  and  out  of  all  the  exquisite  sym- 
bols of  Heaven  offered  to  us  on  earth,  music,  I  think, 
is  the  grandest  and  best. " 


530  "ARDATH" 

"1  will  go  with  you  wherever  you  please,"  replied 
A.lwyn,  glad  of  any  excuse  that  gave  him  more  of  the  at- 
tractive Chaldean's  company,  "but  what  Ange-Demon  are 
you  speaking  of?" 

"Sarasate,  or  'Sarah  Sayty,'  as  some  of  the  dear  Brit- 
ishers call  him,"  laughed  Heliobas,  putting  on  his  over- 
coat as  he  spoke — "the   'Spanish  fiddler,'  as  the  crabbed 
musical  critics  define  him    when  they    want  to    be    con- 
temptuous, which  they  do  pretty  often.     These,  together 
with  the  literary     'oracles,'    have    their    special    cliques, 
their  little  chalked-out  circles,  in  which  they,  like  tranced 
geese,  stand  cackling,  and    unable  to    move  beyond    the 
marked  narrow  limit.      As   there  are    fools    to  be    found 
who  have  the    ignorance  as  well  as  the  effrontery  to  de- 
clare that  the  obfuscated,    ill-expressed,  and    ephemeral 
productions  of  Browning  are    equal,  if  not    superior,    to 
the  clear,    majestic,   matchless,  and  immortal  utterances 
of  Shakespeare — ye  gods!   the  force  of    asinine    braying 
can  no  further  go  than    this — even  so    there    are  similar 
fools  who  say  that  the  cold,  correct,  student-like  playing 
of  Joachim  is  superior  to    that  of    Sarasate.     But    come 
and  judge  for  yourself.      If  you  have  never    heard    him, 
it  will  be  a  sort  of    musical    revelation    to  you.      He    is 
not  so  much    a    violinist    as  a  human    violin    played  by 
some  invisible  sprite  of    song.      London    listens    to  him, 
but  doesn't  know  quite  what    to    make  of  him  j  he    is  a 
riddle  that  only  poets  can    read.      If    we    start    now,  we 
shall  be  just  in  time;    I  have  two  stalls.     Shall  we  go?" 
Alwyn  needed  no  second  invitation.      He  was  passion- 
ately fond  of  music,  his  interest  was    aroused,  his    curi- 
osity excited;  moreover,  whatever  the  fine  taste  of  Helio- 
bas pronounced  as    good  must,  he    felt    sure,  be    super- 
excellent.      In  a  few  minutes  they  had  left    the  hotel  to 
gether,  and  were  walking  briskly  toward  Piccadilly,  their 
singularly  handsome    faces  and    stately    figures    causing 
many  a  passer-by  to  glance  after    them    admiringly,  and 
murmur    sotto    voce,    "Splendid-looking   fellows — not  En- 
glish!"    For    though    Englishmen    are    second    to    none 
in  mere  muscular  strength  and  symmetry  of  form,  it  is  a 
fact    worth    noting   that,  if    any    one    possessing    poetic 
distinction  of  look,  or  picturesque    and    animated  grace 
of  bearing,  be  seen    suddenly    among  the    more    or  less 
^cnotonousjy  uniform  crowd   in  the   streets  of  London, 


THE  WIZARD  OF  THE   BOW  53! 

he  or  she  is  pretty  sure  to  be  set  down.rightly  or  wrongly, 
as  "not  English."  Is  not  this  gather  a  pity — for  En- 
gland? 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  WIZARD  OF   THE  BOW. 

WHEN  they  entered  the  concert-hall  the  orchestra  had 
already  begun  the  programme  of  the  day  with  Mendels- 
sohn's "Italian"  symphony.  The  house  was  crowded  to 
excess.  Numbers  of  people  were  standing,  apparently 
willing  to  endure  a  whole  afternoon's  fatigue  rather 
than  miss  hearing  the  Orpheus  of  Andalusia — the  "En- 
dymion  out  of  Spain,"  as  one  of  our  latest  and  best  poets 
has  aptly  called  him.  Only  a  languidly  tolerant  inter- 
est was  shown  in  the  orchestral  performance.  The  "Ital- 
ian" symphony  is  not  a  really  great  or  suggestive  work, 
and  this  is  probably  the  reason  why  it  so  often  fails  to 
arouse  popular  enthusiasm.  For  be  it  understood  by  the 
critical  elect  that  the  heart-whole  appreciation  of  the 
million  is  by  no  means  so  "vulgar"  as  it  is  frequently 
considered;  it  is  the  impulsive  response  of  those  who, 
not  being  bound  hand  and  foot  by  any  special  fetters  of 
thought  or  prejudice,  express  what  they  instinctively 
feel  to  be  true.  You  cannot  force  these  "vulgar"  by  any 
amount  of  "societies"  to  adopt  Browning  as  a  household 
god,  but  they  will  appropriate  Shakespeare,  and  glory 
in  him  too,  without  any  one's  compulsion.  If  authors, 
painters,  and  musicians  would  probe  more  earnestly  than 
they  do  to  the  core  of  this  instinctive  higher  aspiration 
of  peoples,  it  would  be  all  the  better  for  their  future 
fame.  For  each  human  unit  in  a  nation  has  its  great 
as  well  as  base  passions,  and  it  is  the  clear  duty  of  alJ 
the  votaries  of  art  to  appeal  to  and  support  the  noblest 
side  of  nature  only;  moreover,  to  do  so  with  a  simple, 
unforced,  yet  graphic  eloquence  of  meaning  that  can  be 
grasped  equally  and  at  once  by  both  the  humble  and 
exalted. 

"It  is  not  in  the  least  Italian,'*  said  Heliobas,  al- 
iuding  to  the  symphony,  when  it  was  concluded,  and 


"ARDATH" 

thft  buzz  of  conversation  surged  through  the  hall  llk« 
the  noise  that  might  be  made  by  thousands  of  swarming 
bees.  "There  is  not  a  breath  of  Italian  air  or  glimpse 
of  Italian  light  about  it.  The  dreamy  warmth  of  the 
South,  the  radiant  color  that  lies  all  day  and  all  night  on 
<he  lakes  and  mountains  of  Dante's  land,  the  fragrance 
of  flowers,  the  snatches  of  peasants'  and  fishermen's 
songs,  the  tunefulness  of  nightingales  in  the  moonlight, 
the  tinkle  of  passing  mandolins — all  these  things  should 
be  hinted  at  in  an  'Italian'  symphony,  and  all  these 
are  lacking,  Mendelssohn  tried  to  do  what  was  not  in 
him.  I  do  not  believe  the  half-phlegmatic,  half-philo- 
sophical nature  of  a  German  could  ever  understand  the 
impetuously  passionate  soul  of  Italy." 

As  he  spoke,  a  fair  girl,  with  gray  eyes  that  were  al- 
most black,  glanced  round  at  him  inquiringly.  A  faint 
blush  flitted  over  her  cheeks,  and  she  seemed  about  to 
speak;  but,  as  though  restrained  by  timidity,  she  looked 
away  again  and  said  nothing.  Heliobas  smiled.  "That 
pretty  child  is  Italian,"  he  whispered  to  Alwyn.  "Patri- 
otism sparkled  in  those  bright  eyes  of  hers — love  for  the 
land  of  lilies,  from  which  she  is  at  present  one  trans- 
planted." 

Alwyn  smiled  also,  assentingly,  and  thought  how 
gracious,  kindly,  and  gentle  was  the  look  and  voice  of 
the  speaker.  He  found  it  difficult  to  realize  that  this 
man  who  now  sat  beside  him  in  the  stalls  of  a  fashion- 
able London  concert-room  was  precisely  the  same  one 
who,  clad  in  the  long,  flowing,  white  robes  of  his  order, 
had  stood  before  the  altar  in  the  chapel  at  Dariel,  a 
stately  embodiment  of  evangelical  authority,  intoning 
the  seven  Glorias.  It  seemed  strange  and  yet  not 
strange,  for  Heliobas  was  a  personage  who  might  be 
imagined  anywhere — by  the  bedside  of  a  dying  child, 
among  the  parliaments  of  the  learned,  in  the  most  bril- 
liant social  assemblies,  at  the  head  of  a  church.  Any- 
thing he  chose  to  do  would  equally  become  him,  inas- 
much as  it  was  utterly  impossible  to  depict  him  engaged 
in  otherwise  than  good  and  noble  deeds.  At  that  mo- 
ment a  tumultuous  clamor  of  applause  broke  out  on  all 
sides — applause  that  was  joined  in  by  the  members  of 
the  orchestra  as  well  as  the  audience.  A  figure  emerged 
from  a  side  door  on  the  left  and  ascended  the  platioim 


THE  WIZARD  OF  THE  BOW  533 

— a  slight,  agile  creature,  with  rough,  dark  hair  and 
eager,  passionate  eyes— no  other  than  the  hero  of  the 
occasion,  Sarasate  himself.  Sarasatc  I  il  suo  viclino) 
There  they  were,  the  two  companions — master  and  ser- 
vant, king  and  subject!  The  one  a  lithe,  active-looking 
man,  of  handsome,  somewhat  serious  countenance  and 
absorbed  expression,  the  other  a  mere  frame  of  wood, 
with  four  strings  deftly  knotted  across  it,  in  which  cun1- 
ningly  contrived,  little  bit  of  mechanism  was  imprisoned 
the  intangible  yet  living  spirit  of  sound.  A  miracle  in 
its  way — that  out  of  such  common,  and  even  vile,  mate- 
rials as  wood,  catgut,  and  horsehair,  the  divinest  music 
can  be  drawn  forth  by  the  hand  of  the  master  who  knows 
how  to  use  these  rough  implements.  Suggestive  too, 
is  it  not,  my  friend?  For  if  man  can  by  his  own  pcor 
skill  and  limited  intelligence  so  invoke  spiritual  melody 
by  material  means,  shall  not  God  contrive  some  won- 
drous tunefulness  for  himself,  even  out  of  our  common 
earthly  discord?  Hush!  a  sound  sweet  and  far  as  the 
chime  of  angelic  bells  in  some  vast  sky-tower  rang  clearly 
through  the  hall  over  the  heads  of  the  now  hushed  and 
attentive  audience;  and  Alwyn,  hearing  the  penetrating 
silveriness  of  those  first  notes  that  fell  from  Sarasate's 
bow,  gave  a  quick  sigh  of  amazement  and  ecstasy;  such 
marvelous  purity  of  tone  was  intoxicating  to  his  senses 
and  set  his  soul  quivering  for  sheer  delight  in  sympa- 
thetic tune  He  glanced  at  the  programme — "Concerto: 
Beethoven;"  and  swift  as  a  flash  there  came  to  his  mind 
some  lines  he  had  lately  read  and  learned  to  love: 

"It  was  the  Kaiser  of  the  Land  of  Song, 

The  giant  singer  who  did  storm  the  gates 
Of  Heaven  and  Hell — a  man  to  whom  the  Fates 
Were  fierce  as  furies — and  who  suffered  wrong, 
And  ached  and  bore  it,  and  was  brave  and  strong, 
And  gaunt  as  ocean  when  its  rage  abates." 

Beethoven!  Musical  fullness  of  divine  light !  How 
glorious  the  nightingale-notes  of  his  unworded  poesy 
came  dropping  through  the  air,  like  pearls  rolling  off 
the  magic  wand  of  the  violin  wizard,  whose  delicate, 
dark  face,  now  slightly  flushed  with  the  glow  of  inspira- 
tion, seemed  to  reflect  by  its  very  expression  the  various 
phases  of  the  mighty  composer's  thought!  Alwyn  half 
closed  his  eyes  and  listened  entranced,  allowing  his  soul 


534  "ARDATH" 

to  drift  like  an  earless  boat  on  the  swesping  waves  ol 
the  music's  will.  He  was  under  the  supreme  sway  of 
two  emperors  of  art-— Beethoven  and  Sarasate — and  he 
was  content  to  follow  such  leaders  through  whatever 
sweet  tangles  and  tall  growths  of  melody  they  might 
devise  for  his  wandering.  At  one  mad  passage  of  danc- 
ing semitones  he  started;  it  was  as  though  a  sudden 
wind,  dreaming  an  enraged  dream,  had  leaped  up  to 
shake  tall  trees  to  and  fro  ;  and  the  Pass  of  Dariel,  with 
its  frozen  mountain-peaks,  its  tottering  pines,  and  howl- 
ing hurricanes,  loomed  back  upon  his  imagination  as  he 
had  seen  it  first  on  the  night  he  had  arrived  at  the  mon« 
astery;  Dut  soon  these  wild  notes  sank,  and  slept  again 
in  the  dulcet  harmony  of  an  Adagio  softer  than  a  lover's 
song  at  midnight.  Many  strange  suggestions  began  to 
glimmer  ghost-like  through  this  same  Adagio;  the  fair, 
dead  face  of  Niphrata  flitted  past  him,  as  a  wandering 
moonbeam  flits  athwart  a  cloud.  Then  came  flashing 
reflections  of  light  and  color;  the  bewildering  dazzle- 
ment  of  Lysia's  beauty  shone  before  the  eyes  of  his 
memory  with  a  blinding  luster  as  of  flame;  the  phantas- 
magoria of  the  city  of  Al-Kyris  seemed  to  float  in  the  air 
like  a  faintly  discovered  mirage  ascending  from  the  sea  ; 
again  h3  saw  its  picturesque  streets,  its  domes  and  bell- 
towers,  its  courts  and  gardens;  again  he  heard  the  dreamy 
melody  of  the  dance  that  had  followed  the  death  of  Nir- 
jalis,  and  saw  the  cruel  Lysia's  wondrous  garden  lying 
white  in  the  radiance  of  the  moon;  anon  he  beheld  the 
great  square,  with  its  fallen  obelisk  and  the  prostrate, 
lifeless  form  of  the  prophet  Khosrul,  and — O  most  sad 
and  dear  remembrance  of  all! — the  cherished  shadow  of 
himself,  the  brilliant,  the  joyous  Sah  luma  appeared  to 
beckon  him  from  the  other  side  of  some  vast  gulf  of 
mist  and  darkness,  with  a  smile  that  was  sorrowful  yet 
persuasive — a  smile  that  seemed  to  say:  "O  friend,  why 
hast  thou  left  me  as  though  I  were  a  dead  thing  and  un- 
worthy of  regard?  Lo,  I  have  never  died;  I  am  here, 
an  abandoned  part  of  Thee,  ready  to  become  thine  in- 
separable comrade  once  more  if  thou  make  but  the 
slightest  sign!"  Then  it  seemed  as  though  voices  whis- 
pered in  his  ear:  "Sah-luma! — beloved  Sah-lurna!"  and 
"Theos ! — Theos,  my  beloved!"  till,  moved  by  a  vague 
tremor  of  anxiety,  he  lifted  his  drooping  eyelids  and 


THE  WIZARD   OF  THE   BOW  535 

gazed  full  in  a  sort  of  half-incredulous,  half-reproachful 
amaze  at  the  musical  necromancer  who  had  conjured 
up  all  these  apparitions.  What  did  this  wonderful  Sa- 
rasate  know  of  his  past? 

Nothing,  indeed!  He  had  ceased,  and  was  gravely 
bowing  to  the  audience  in  response  to  the  thunder  of 
applause  that,  like  a  sudden  whirlwind,  seemed  to  shake 
the  building.  But  he  had  not  quite  finished  his  incanta- 
tions; the  last  part  of  the  concert  was  yet  to  come,  and 
as  soon  as  the  hubbub  of  excitement  had  calmed  down 
he  dashed  into  it  with  the  delicious  speed  and  joy  of  a 
lark  soaring  into  the  springtide  air.  And  now  on  all  sides 
what  clear  showers  and  sparkling  coruscations  of  melo- 
dy; what  a  broad,  blue  sky  above,  what  a  fair,  green 
earth  below;  how  warm  and  odorous  this  radiating  space, 
made  resonant  with  the  ring  of  sweet  bird-harmonies, 
wild  trills  of  ecstasy  and  lover-like  tenderness;  snatches 
of  song  caught  up  from  the  flower-filled  meadows  and 
set  to  float  in  echoing  liberty  through  the  azure  dome 
of  heaven;  and  in  all,  and  above  all,  the  light  and  heat 
and  luster  of  the  unclouded  sun!  Here  there  was  no 
dreaming  possible — nothing  but  glad  life,  glad  youth, 
glad  love!  With  an  ambrosial  rush  of  tune,  like  the  lark 
descending,  the  dancing  bow  cast  forth  the  final  chord 
from  the  violin  as  though  it  were  a  diamond  flung  from 
the  hand  of  a  king,  a  flawless  jewel  of  pure  sound;  and 
the  minstrel-monarch  of  Andalusia,  serenely  saluting  the 
now  wildly  enthusiastic  audience,  left  the  platform.  But 
he  was  not  allowed  to  escape  so  soon ;  again  and  again, 
and  yet  again,  the  enormous  crowd  summoned  him  be- 
fore them,  for  the  mere  satisfaction  of  looking  at  his 
slight  figure,  his  dark,  poetic  face,  and  soft,  half  pas- 
sionate, half-melancholy  eyes,  as  though  anxious  to  con- 
vince themselves  that  he  was  indeed  human,  and  not  a 
supernatural  being,  as  his  marvelous  genius  seemed  to 
indicate.  When  at  last  he  had  retired  for  a  breathing 
while,  Heliobas  turned  to  Alwyn  with  the  question: 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"Think  of  him?"  echoed  Alwyn;  "why,  what  can  one 
think — what  can  one  say  of  such  an  artist?  He  is  like 
a  grand  sunrise,  baffling  all  description  and  all  criticism!" 

Heliobas  smiled;  there  was  a  little  touch  of  satire  in 
his  smile. 


536  "ARDATH" 

"Do  you  see  that  gentleman?"  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
pointing  out  by  a  gesture  a  pale,  flabby-looking  young 
man,  who  was  lounging  languidly  in  a  stall  not  very  far 
from  where  they  themselves  sat;  "he  is  the  musical  critic 
for  one  of  the  leading  London  daily  papers.  He  has  not 
stirred  an  inch  or  moved  an  eyelash  during  Sarasate's 
performance,  and  the  violent  applause  of  the  audience 
was  manifestly  distasteful  to  him.  He  has  merely  writ- 
ten one  line  down  in  his  note-book;  it  is  most  probably 
to  the  effect  that  the  'Spanish  fiddler  met  with  his  usual 
success  at  the  hands  of  the  undiscriminating  public." 

Alwyn  laughed.  "Not  possible!"  and  he  eyed  the 
impassive  individual  in  question  with  a  certain  compas- 
sionate amusement.  "Why,  if  he  cannot  admire  such 
a  magnificent  artist  as  Sarasate,  what  is  there  in  all  the 
world  that  will  rouse  his  admiration?" 

"Nothing!"  rejoined  Heliobas,  his  eyes  twinkling  hu- 
morously as  he  spoke — "Nothing,  unless  it  be  his  own 
perspicuity!  Nil  Admirari  is  the  critic's  motto.  The 
modern  'Zabastes'  must  always  be  careful  to  impress 
his  readers  in  the  first  place  with  his  personal  superior- 
ity to  all  men  and  all  things;  and  the  musical  oracle 
yonder  will  no  doubt  be  clever  enough  to  make  his  re- 
port of  Sarasate  in  such  a  manner  as  to  suggest  the  idea 
that  he  could  play  the  violin  much  better  himself,  if  he 
only  cared  to  try!" 

"Ass!"  said  Alwyn,  under  his  breath.  "One  would 
like  to  shake  him  out  of  his  absurd  self-complacency!" 

Heliobas  shrugged  his  shoulders  expressively. 

"My  dear  fellow,  he  would  only  bray;  and  the  bray- 
ing of  an  ass  is  not  euphonious.  No!  you  might  as  well 
shake  a  dry  clothes-prop  and  expect  it  to  blossom  into 
fruit  and  flowers  as  argue  with  a  musical  critic  and  ex- 
pect him  to  be  enthusiastic!  The  worst  of  it  is,  these 
men  are  not  really  musical :  they  perhaps  know  a  little 
of  the  grammar  and  technique  of  the  thing,  but  they 
cannot  understand  its  full  eloquence.  In  the  presence 
of  a  genius  like  Pablo  de  Sarasate  they  are  more  or  less 
perplexed  ;  it  is  as  though  you  asked  them  to  describe 
in  set,  cold  terms  the  counterpoint  and  thorough-bass 
of  the  wind's  symphony  to  the  trees,  the  great  ocean's 
sonata  to  the  shore,  or  the  delicate  madrigals  sung  al- 
most inaudibly  by  little  bell-blossoms  to  the  tinkling 


THE  WIZARD  OF  THE  BOW  537 

fall  of  April  rain.  The  man  is  too  great  for  them;  he 
is  a  blazing  star  that  dazzles  and  confounds  their  sight; 
and,  after  the  manner  of  their  craft,  they  abuse  what 
they  can't  understand.  Music  is  distinctly  the  language 
of  the  emotions,  and  they  have  no  emotion.  They  there- 
fore generally  prefer  Joachim,  who  so  delights  all  the 
dreary  old  spinsters  and  dowagers  who  nod  over  their 
knitting-needles  at  the  'Monday  Popular'  concerts,  and 
fancy  themselves  lovers  of  the  'classical'  in  music.  Sa- 
rasate  appeals  to  those  who  have  loved  and  thought  and 
suffered — those  who  have  climbed  the  heights  of  passion 
and  wrung  out  the  depths  of  pain;  and  therefore  the 
people  taken  en  masse,  as,  for  instance,  in  this  crowded 
hall,  instinctively  respond  to  his  magic  touch.  And 
why?  Because  the  greater  majority  of  human  beings 
are  full  of  the  deepest  and  most  passionate  feelings,  not 
as  yet  having  been  'educated'  out  of  them." 

Here  the  orchestra  commenced  Liszt's  "Preludes"  and 
all  conversation  ceased.  Afterward  Sarasate  came  again 
to  bestow  upon  his  eager  admirers  another  saving  grace 
of  sound,  in  the  shape  of  the  famous  Mendelssohn  Con- 
certo, which  he  performed  with  such  fiery  ardor,  tender- 
ness, purity  of  tone,  and  marvelous  execution,  that  many 
listeners  held  their  breath  for  sheer  amazement  and  de- 
lighted awe.  Anything  approaching  the  beauty  of  his 
rendering  of  the  final  "Allegro"  Alwyn  had  never  heard; 
and  indeed  it  is  probable  none  will  ever  hear  a  more 
poetical,  more  exquisite  singing  of  thought  than  this 
matchless  example  of  Sarasate's  genius  and  power.  Who 
would  not  warm  to  the  brightness  and  delicacy  of  those 
delicious,  rippling  tones  that  seem  to  leap  from  the 
strings  alive  like  sparks  of  fire;  the  dainty,  tripping  ease 
of  the  arpeggi  that  float  from  the  bow  with  the  grace  of 
rainbow  bubbles  blown  forth  upon  the  air;  the  brilliant 
runs  that  glide  and  glitter  up  a,nd  down  like  chattering 
brooks  sparkling  among  violets  and  meadow-sweet;  the 
lovely,  softer  notes,  that  here  and  there  sigh  between 
the  varied  harmonies  with  the  dreamy  passion  of  lovers, 
who  part  only  to  meet  again  in  a  rush  of  eager  joy? 
Alwyn  sat  absorbed  and  spell-bound.  He  forgot  the 
passing  of  time;  he  forgot  even  the  presence  of  Helio- 
bas;  he  could  only  listen,  and  gratefully  drink  in  every 
drop  of  sweetness  that  was  so  lavishly  poured  upon  him 
from  such  a  glorious  sky  oj[  sunlit  sound. 


538  "ARDATH" 

Presently,  toward  the  end  of  the  performance,  a  curi- 
ous thing  happened.  Sarasate  had  appeared  to  play  the 
last  piece  set  down  for  him — a  composition  of  his  own, 
entitled  " Zigeunerwtisen. "  A  gipsy  song,  or  medley  of 
gipsy  songs,  it  would  be,  thought  Alwyn,  glancing  at 
his  programme;  then,  looking  toward  the  artist,  who 
stood  with  lifted  bow,  like  another  Prospero  prepared 
i:>  summon  forth  the  Ariel  of  music  at  a  touch,  he  saw 
that  the  dark  Spanish  eyes  of  the  maestro  were  fixed  full 
upon  him  with,  as  he  then  fancied,  a  strange  penetrat- 
ing smile  in  their  fiery  depths.  One  instant,  and  a  weird 
lament  came  sobbing  from  the  smitten  violin;  a  wildly 
beautiful  despair  was  wordlessly  proclaimed — a  melody 
that  went  straight  to  the  heart  and  made  it  ache  and 
burn  and  throb  with  a  rising  tumult  of  unlanguaged  pas- 
sion and  desire.  The  solemn,  yet  unfettered  grace  of 
its  rhythmic  respiration  suggested  to  Alwyn  first  dark- 
ness, the  twilight,  then  the  gradual  far-glimmering  of  a 
silvery  dawn,  till  out  of  the  shuddering  notes  there 
seemed  to  grow  up  a  vague,  vast,  and  cool  whiteness, 
splendid  and  mystical — a  whiteness  that  from  shapeless 
fleecy  mist  took  gradual  form  and  substance.  The  great 
concert-hall,  with  its  closely  packed  throng  of  people, 
appeared  to  fade  away  like  vanishing  smoke,  and  lo!  be- 
fore the  poet's  entranced  gaze  there  rose  up  a  wondrous 
vision  of  stately  architectural  grandeur — -a  vision  of  snowy 
columns  and  lofty  arches,  upon  which  fell  a  shimmering 
play  of  radiant  color,  flung  by  the  beams  of  the  sun 
through  stained-glass  windows,  glistening  jewel-wise. 
A  tremulous  sound  of  voices  floated  aloft,  singing  " ' Kyie 
eleison!  Kyrie  eleison!"  and  the  murmuring  undertone 
of  the  organ  shook  the  still  air  with  deep  vibrations  of 
holy  tune.  Every  where  peace,  every  where  purity ;  every- 
where that  spacious  whiteness,  flecked  with  side  gleams 
of  royal  purple,  gold,  and  ardent  crimson;  and  in  the 
midst  of  all — O  dearest  tenderness!  O  fairest  glory!  a 
face  shining  forth  like  a  tear  in  a  cloud — a  face  dazzlingly 
beautiful  and  sweet — a  golden  head  above  which  the  pale 
halo  of  a  light  ethereal  hovered  lovingly  in  a  radiant 
ring! 

"EdrisT  The  chaste  name  breathed  itself  silently  in 
Alwyn's  thoughts — silently,  and  yet  with  all  the  passion  of 
a  lover's  prayer.  How  was  it,  he  wondered  dimly,  that 


THE   WIZARD   OF   THE   BOW  539 


a 


,  laughing  and  de.-gh.edly  eo»™-»« 


diately  in  front  of  Heliobas  and  Alwyn  being  .perhaps 
"he  very  pith  and  essence  of  the  universal  op.n.on  con- 
cerning the  great  artist  they  had  just  heard. 

••Ttlll  you  what  he  is,"  said  one;  "he's  •*»*«£, 
••Oh,  don't  halve  it!"  rejoined  the  other  wittily. 

" 


540  "ARDATH" 

rendered  doubly  brilliant  by  the  deep  saffron  light  of  a 
gloriously  setting  sun,  Heliobas  prepared  to  take  leave 
of  his  somewhat  silent  and  preoccupied  companion. 

"I  see  you  are  still  under  the  sway    of    the    Anje-D<z- 
m0n,"  he  remarked  cheerfully,  as   he  shook  hands.      "Is 
he  not  an  amazing  fellow?     That  bow  of  his  is  a  verita- 
ble divining-rod;  it  finds  out  the    fountain  of    Elusidis* 
in  each  human  heart.     It  has    but  to    pronounce    a  note, 
and  straightway  the  hidden  waters  begin  to  bubble.    But 
don't  forget  to  read  the  newspaper    accounts  of  this  con- 
cert!    You  will  see  that  the  critics  will  make  no  allusion 
whatever  to  the  enthusiasm  of  the  audience,  and  that  the 
numerous  encores  will  not  even  b3  mentioned." 

"That  is  unfair!"  said  Alwyn  quickly.  "The  expression 
of  the  people's  appreciation  should  always  be  chronicled." 

"Of  course!  But  it  never  is,  unless  it  suits  the  im- 
mediate taste  of  the  cliques.  Clique-art,  clique  litera- 
ture, clique-criticism  keep  all  three  things  on  a  low 
ground  that  slopes  daily  more  and  more  toward  de- 
cadence. And  the  pity  of  it  is,  that  the  English  get 
judged  abroad  chiefly  by  what  their  own  journalists  say 
of  them.  Thus,  if  Sarasate  is  coldly  criticised, foreigners 
laugh  at  the  '##musical  English,'  whereas  the  fact  is 
that  the  nation  itself  is  not  it/musical,  but  its  musical 
critics  mostly  are.  They  are  very  often  picked  out  of 
the  rank  and  file  of  the  dullest  Academy  students  and 
contrapuntists,  who  are  incapable  of  understanding  any- 
thing original,  and  therefore  are  the  persons  most  un- 
fitted to  form  a  correct  estimate  of  genius.  However,  it 
has  always  been  so,  and  I  suppose  it  always  will  be  so. 
Don't  you  remember  that  when  Beethoven  began  his 
grand  innovations  a  certain  critic-ass-ter  wrote  of  him: 
'The  absurdity  of  his  effort  is  only  equaled  by  the  hid- 
(•ousness  of  its  result?'" 

He  laughed  lightly,  and  once  more  shook  hands,  while 
Alwyn,  looking  at  him   wistfully,  said: 
"1  wonder  when  we  shall  meet  again?" 

"Oh,  very  soon,  I  dare  say!"  he  rejoined.  "The  world 
is  a  wonderfully  small  place,  after  all,  as  men  find  when 
they  jostle  up  against  each  other  unexpectedly  in  the 
most  unlikely  corners  of  far  countries.  You  may,  if  you 

*A  miraculous  fountain  spoken  of  in  old  chronicles,  whose  waters  rose 
to  the  sound  of  music,  and,  the  music  ceasing,  sank  again. 


Ttft  WIZARD  OF  THE   BOW  54! 

choose,  correspond  with  me;  and  that  is  a  privilege  I 
accord  to  few,  I  assure  you!"  He  smiled,  and  then  went 
on  in  a  more  serious  tone:  "You  are,  of  course,  welcome 
at  our  monastery  whenever  you  wish  to  come,  but  take 
my  advice;  do  not  willfully  step  out  of  the  sphere  in 
which  you  are  placed!  Live  in  society!  It  needs  men 
of  your  stamp  and  intellectual  caliber.  Show  it  a  high 
and  consistent  example;  let  no  eccentricity  mar  your 
daily  actions;  work  at  your  destiny  steadily,  cheerfully, 
serenely;  and  leave  the  rest  to  God  and  the  angels!" 

There  was  a  slight  tender  inflection  in  his  voice  as  he 
spoke  the  last  words,  and  Alwyn  gave  him  a  quick, 
searching  glance;  but  his  blue,  penetrating  eyes  were 
calm  and  steadfast — full  of  their  usual  luminous  softness 
and  pathos — and  there  was  nothing  expressed  in  them 
but  the  gentlest  friendliness. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  I  may  write  to  you,  at  any  rate!" 
said  Alwyn  at  last,  reluctantly  releasing  his  hand.  "It 
is  possible  I  may  not  remain  long  in  London;  I  want  to 
finish  my  poem,  and  it  goes  on  too  slowly  in  the  tumult 
of  daily  life  in  town." 

"Then  will  you  go  abroad  again?"   inquired  Heliobas. 

"Perhaps.  I  may  visit  Bonn,  where  I  was  once  a  stu- 
dent for  a  time.  It  is  a  peaceful,  sleepy  little  place;  I 
shall  probably  complete  my  work  easily  there.  More- 
over, it  will  be  like  going  back  to  a  bit  of  my  youth. 
I  remember  I  first  began  to  entertain  all  my  dreams  of 
poesy  at  Bonn." 

"Inspired  by  the  Seven  Mountains  and  the  Drachen- 
fels!"  laughed  Heliobas.  "No  wonder  you  recalled  the 
lost  'Sah-luma'  period  in  the  sight  of  the  entrancing 
Rhine!  Ah,  sir  poet;  you  have  had  your  fill  of  fame; 
and  I  fear  the  plaudits  of  London  will  never  be  like 
those  of  Al-Kyris.  No  monarchs  will  honor  you  now, 
but  rather  despise;  for  the  kings  and  queens  of  this  age 
prefer  financiers  to  laureates.  Now,  wherever  you  wan- 
der, let  me  hear  of  your  well-being  and  progress  in  con- 
tentment! When  you  write,  address  to  our  Dariel  re- 
treat; for  though  on  my  return  from  Mexico  I  shall  prob- 
ably visit  Lemnos,  my  letters  will  always  be  forwarded. 
Adieu!" 

"Adieu!"  and  their  eyes    met.      A  grave,  sweet   smil? 
brightened  the  Chaldean's  handsome  features. 


543  "ARDATH" 

"God  remain  with  you,  my  friend!"  he  said  in  a  low, 
thrillingly  earnest  tone.  "Believe  me,  you  are  elected 
to  a  strangely  happy  fate — far  happier  than  you  at  pres- 
ent know!" 

With  these  words  he  turned  and  was  gone — lost  to  sight 
in  the  surging  throng  of  passers-by.  Alwyn  looked 
eagerly  after  him,  but  saw  him  no  more.  His  tall  fig- 
ure had  vanished  as  utterly  as  any  of  the  phantom  shapes 
in  Al-Kyris,  only  that,  far  from  being  specter-like,  he 
had  seemed  more  actually  a  living  personality  than  any 
of  the  people  in  the  streets  who  were  hurrying  to  and 
fro  on  their  various  errands  of  business  or  pleasure. 

That  same  night,  when  Alwyn  related  his  day's  adven- 
ture to  Villiers,  who  heard  it  with  the  most  absorbed 
interest,  he  was  describing  the  effect  of  Sarasate's  vio- 
lin-playing, when  all  at  once  he  was  seized  by  the  same 
curious,  overpowering  impression  of  white, lofty  arches, 
stained  windows,  and  jewel-like  glimmerings  of  color; 
and  he  suddenly  stopped  short  in  the  midst  of  his  nar 
rative. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Villiers,  astonished.  "Go 
on!  You  were  saying — " 

"That  Sarasate  is  one  of  the  divinest  of  God's  wander- 
ing melodies,"  went  on  Alwyn  slowly  and  with  a  faint 
smile;  "and  that,  though  as  a  rule  musicians  are  forgot- 
ten when  their  music  ceases,  this  Andalusian  Orpheus  in 
Thrace  will  be  remembered  long  after  his  violin  is  laid 
aside  and  he  himself  has  journeyed  to  a  sunnier  land 
than  Spain.  But  I  am  not  master  of  my  thoughts  to- 
night, Villiers.  My  Chaldean  friend  has  perhaps  mes- 
merized  me — who  knows?  and  I  have  an  odd  fancy  upon 
me;  I  should  like  to  spend  an  hour  in  some  great  and 
beautiful  cathedral,  and  see  the  light  of  the  rising  sun 
flashing  through  the  stained  windows  across  th«  altar." 

"Poet  and  dreamer!"  laughed  Villiers.  "You  can't 
gratify  that  whim  in  London;  there's  no  'great  and  beau- 
tiful' edifice  of  the  kind  here — only  the  unfinished  Ora- 
tory, Westminster  Abbey,  broken  up  into  ugly  pews  and 
vile  monuments,  and  the  repellently  grimy  St.  Paul's; 
so  go  to  bed,  old  boy,  and  indulge  yourself  in  some 
more  'visions,'  for  I  assure  you,  you'll  never  find  any 
reality  come  up  to  your  ideal  of  things  in  general!" 

"No?"  and  Alwyn    emiled;    "strange  that    I  see   it  jo 


BY  THE  RHINE  543 

quite  the  reverse  way!  It  seems  to  me  no  ideal  will  ever 
come  up  to  the  splendor  of  reality." 

"But  remember,"  said  Villiers  quickly,  "your  reality 
is  heaven — a  'reality'  that  is  every  one  else's  myth.  " 

"True — terribly  true!"  and  Alwyn's  eyes  darkened 
sorrowfully;  "yet  the  world's  myth  is  the  only  eternal 
real,  and  for  the  shadows  of  this  present  seeming  we 
barter  our  immortal  substance." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

BY  THE   RHINE. 

IN  the  two  or  three  weeks  that  followed  his  meeting 
with  Heliobas  Alwyn  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  Lon- 
don  for  a  while.  He  was  tired  and  restless — tired  of  the 
routine  society  more  or  less  imposed  upon  him,  restless 
because  he  had  come  to  a  standstill  in  his  work — an  in- 
visible barrier  over  which  his  creative  fancy  was  unable 
to  take  its  usual  sweeping  flight.  He  had  an  idea  of 
seeking  some  quiet  spot  among  mountains,  as  far  re- 
mote as  possible  from  the  traveling  world  of  men— a 
peaceful  place,  where, with  the  majestic  silence  of  nature 
all  about  him  he  might  plead  in  lover-like  retirement 
with  his  refractory  muse,  and  strive  to  coax  her  into  a 
sweeter  and  more  indulgent  humor.  It  was  not  that 
thoughts  were  lacking  to  him;  what  he  complained  of 
was  the  monotony  of  language  and  the  difficulty  of  find- 
ing new,  true,  and  choice  forms  of  expression.  A  great 
thought  leaps  into  the  brain  like  a  lightning-flash  ;  there 
it  is,  an  indescribable  mystery,  warming  the  soul  ard 
pervading  the  intellect;  but  the  proper  expression  of  that 
thought  is  a  matter  of  the  deepest  anxiety  to  the  true 
poet,  who,  if  he  be  worthy  of  his  vocation,  is  bound  not 
only  to  proclaim  it  to  the  world  clearly,  but  also  clad 
in  such  a  perfection  of  wording  that  it  shall  chime  on 
men's  ears  with  a  musical  sound  as  of  purest  golden 
bells.  There  are  very  few  faultless  examples  of  this 
felicitous  utterance  in  English,  or  in  any  literature;  so 
iew,  indeed,  that  they  could  almost  all  be  included  in 


544  "ARDATH"* 

one  newspaper  column  of  ordinary  print.  Keats'  exquis- 
ite line — 

"yEea's  isle  was  wondering  at  the  moon" — 

in  which  the  word  "wondering"  paints  a  whole  land- 
scape of  dreamy  enchantment,  and  the  couplet  in  the 
"Ode  to  a  Nightingale"  that  speaks  with  a  delicious 
vagueness  of 

"Magic  casements  opening  on  the  foam 
Of  perilous  seas  in  faery  lands  forlorn," — 

are  absolutely  unique  and  unrivaled,  as  is  the  fine  allit- 
eration taken  from  a  poet  of  our  own  day: 

"The  holy  lark 

With  fire  from  heaven  and  sunlight  on  his  wing, 
Who  wakes  the  world  with  witcheries  of  the  dark. 
Renewed  in  rapture  in  the  reddening  air!" 

Again  from  the  same — 

"The  chords  of  the  lute  are  entranced 
With  the  weight  of  the  wonder  of  things, 

and 

"his  skyward  notes 
Have  drenched  the  summer  with  the  dews  of  song! — "* 

this  last  line  being  certainly  one  of  the  most  suggestive 
and  beautiful  in  all  poetical  literature.  Such  expressions 
have  the  intrinsic  quality  of  completeness;  once  said, 
we  feel  that  they  can  never  be  said  again;  they  belong  to 
the  centuries  rather  than  the  seasons,  and  any  imitation 
of  them  we  immediately  and  instinctively  resent  as  an 
outrage. 

And  Theos  Alwyn  was  essentially  and  above  all  things 
faithful  to  the  lofty  purpose  of  his  calling.  He  dealt 
with  his  art  reverently,  and  not  in  rough  haste  and 
scrambling  carelessness.  If  he  worked  out  any  idea  in 
rhyme,  the  idea  was  distinct  and  the  rhyme  was  perfect. 
He  was  not  content,  like  Browning,  to  jumble  together 
such  hideous  and  ludicrous  combinations  as  "high ; 
humph!"  and  "triumph;"  moreo  er,  he  knew  that  what 
he  had  to  tell  his  public  must  be  told  comprehensively, 
yet  grandly;  with  all  the  authority  and  persuasiveness 

•These  passages  will  be  found  in  vol.  vi.  of  Messrs.  Trubners  "Lotes* 
series,  entitled.  "A  Lover's  Litanies  and  other  Poems." 


BY  THE  RHINE  545 

of  incisive  rhetoric,  yet  also  with  all  the  sweetness  and 
fascination  of  a  passionate  love-song.  Occupied  with  such 
work  as  his,  London,  with  its  myriad  mad  noises  and 
vulgar  distractions,  became  impossible  to  him;  and  Vil- 
liers,  his  fidus  Achates,  who  had  read  portions  of  his 
great  poem  and  was  impatient  to  see  it  finished,  know- 
ing as  he  did  what  an  enormous  sensation  it  would  cre- 
ate when  published,  warmly  seconded  his  own  desire  to 
gain  a  couple  of -months'  complete  seclusion  and  tran- 
quility. 

He  left  town,  therefore,  about  the  middle  of  May  and 
started  across  the  Channel,  resolving  to  make  for  Switzer- 
land by  the  leisurely  and  delightful  way  of  the  Rhine, 
in  order  to  visit  Bonn,  the  scene  of  his  old  student  days. 
What  days  they  had  been!  —  days  of  dreaming  more  than 
action  ;  for  he  had  always  regarded  learning  as  a  pas- 
time rather  than  a  drudgery,  and  so  had  easily  distanced 
his  comrades  in  the  race  for  knowledge.  While  they  were 
flirting  with  the  Lischen  or  Gretchen  of  the  hour,  he 
had  willingly  absorbed  himself  in  study.  Thus  he 
had  attained  the  head  of  his  classes  with  scarce  an  effort, 
and  in  fact  had  often  found  time  hanging  heavily  on  his 
hands  for  want  of  something  more  to  do.  He  had  aston- 
ished the  university  professors,  but  he  had  not  aston- 
ished himself;  inasmuch  as  no  special  branch  of  learning 
presented  any  difficulties  to  him,  and  the  more  he  mas- 
tered the  more  dissatisfied  he  became.  It  had  seemed 
such  a  little  thing  to  win  the  honors  of  scholarship! 
For  at  that  time  his  ambition  was  always  climbing  up 
the  apparently  inaccessible  heights  of  fame — fame,  that 
he  then  imagined  was  the  greatest  glory  any  human  be- 
ing could  aspire  to.  He  smiled  as  he  recollected  this, 
and  thought  how  changed  he  was  since  then.  What  a 
difference  between  the  former  discontented  mutability 
of  his  nature  and  the  deep,  unswerving  calm  of  patience 
that  characterized  it  now!  Learning  and  scholarship? 
These  were  the  mere  child's  alphabet  of  things;  and 
fame  was  a  passing  breath  that  ruffled  for  one  brief  mo- 
ment the  ontushing  flood  of  time — a  bubble  blown  in 
the  air  to  break  into  nothingness.  Thus  much  wisdom 
he  had  acquired,  and  what  more?  A  great  deal  more! 
He  had  won  the  difficult  comprehension  of  himself;  he 
had  grasped  the  priceless  knowledge  that  man  has  no  en- 


"ARDATH1 


546 

emy  save  that  which  is  within    him,  and  that    the  pride 
ot  a  rebellious    will  is    the    parent    sin  from     which    all 
others  are    generated.      The  old  Scriptural  saying  is  true 
for  all  time,  that  through  pride  the  angels    fell ;  and  it  is 
only    through  humility    that  they    will  ever    rise    again. 
Pride  !  the  proud  will  that  is  left  free    by  divine    law  to 
work  for  itself  and  answer  for  itself,  and  wreak  upon  its 
own  head    the  punishment  of    its    own  errors— the    wi) 
that,  once  voluntarily  crushed  down  in    the    dust  at  the 
cross  of  Christ,  with  these  words,   truly  drawn    from  the 
depths  of  penitence,    "Lord,    not    as  I    will  but    as  thou 
wilt!"  is  straightway  lifted  up    from    its    humiliation,  a 
supreme,  stately  force,  resistless,  miraculous,  world-com- 
manding—smoothing  the  way  for    all    greatness  and    all 
goodness,  and  guiding  the  happy    soul  from    joy  to  joy, 
till  heaven  itself  is  reached  and  the  perfection  of  all 
and  life  begins.   For  true  humility  is  not  slavish,  as  some 
people  imagine,  but  rather  royal  ;  since,  while  acknowl- 
edging the  supremacy  of    God,  it    claims    close  kindred 
with  him,  and  is  at  once    invested  with    all  the    diviner 
virtues.    Fame  and  wealth,  the  two  perishable  prizes  for 
which  men  struggle  with    one  another    in  ceaseless  and 
cruel  combat,  bring  no  absolute  satisfaction  in  the  end; 
they  are   toys  that    please    for  a     time    and  then    grow 
wearisome.      But  the    conquering  of    self  is  a    battle  in 
which  each  fresh    victory    bestows    a    deeper  content,  a 
larger   happiness,  a    more    perfect    peace;    and    neither 
poverty,  sickness,  nor  misfortune  can  quench    the  cour- 
jge  or  abate  the  ardor  of  the  warrior  who  is  absorbed  in 
a  crusade  against  his    own  worse    passions.      Egotism  i 
the  vice  of  this  age.     The  maxim  of    modern  society  i 
"Each  man    for  himself  and    no  one    for   his  neighbor; 
and  in  such  a  state  of  things,  when  personal  interest  ot 
advantage  is  the  chief  boon  desired,  we  cannot    look  f 
honesty  in    either   religion,     politics,    or  commerce,  r 
can  we  expect  any  grand  work  to  be  done  in  art  or  li 
ture.     When  pictures  are  painted  and  books  are  written 
for  money  only,  when  laborers  take  no  pleasure  in  labor 
save  for  the  wage  it  brings,   when  no  real  enthusiasm  i 
shown  in  anything  except  the    accumulation   of    weali 
and  when  all  the  finer    sentiments    and  nobler  instinct 
of  men  are    made  subject    to    mammon-worship,   is    any 
one  so  mad  and  blind  as  to    think  that    good  can  come 


BY  THE  RHINE  547 

of  it?  Nothing  but  evil  upon  evil  can  accrue  from  such 
a  system;  and  those  who  have  prophetic  eyes  to  see 
through  the  veil  of  events  can  perceive  even  now  the  not 
far  distant  end,  namely,  the  ruin  of  the  country  that  has 
permitted  itself  to  degenerate  into  a  mere  nation  of  shop- 
keepers, and  something  worse  than  ruin — degradation! 

It  was  past  eight  in  the  evening  when  Alwyn,  after 
having  spent  a  couple  of  days  in  bright  little  Brussels, 
arrived  a;  Cologne.  Most  travelers  know  to  their  cost 
how  noisy,  narrow,  and  unattractive  are  the  streets  of 
this  ancient  Colonia  Agrippina  of  the  Romans,  how  per- 
sistent and  wearying  is  the  rattle  of  the  vehicles  over 
the  rough  cobbly  stones,  how  irritating  to  the  nerves  is 
the  incessant  shrieking  whistle  and  clank  of  the  Rhine 
steamboats  as  they  glide  in  or  glide  out  from  the  cheer- 
less and  dirty  pier;  but  at  night,  when  these  unpleasing 
sounds  have  partially  subsided,  and  the  lights  twinkle 
in  the  shop-windows,  and  the  majestic  mass  of  the  ca- 
thedral casts  its  broad  shadow  on  the  moonlit  Dom- 
Platz,  and  a  few  soldiers,  with  clanking  swords  and  glit- 
tering spurs,  come  marching  out  from  some  dark  stone 
archway,  and  the  green  gleam  of  the  river  sparkles  along 
in  luminous  ripples— then  it  is  that  a  something  weird 
and  mystical  creeps  over  the  town,  and  the  glamour  of 
ancient  historical  memories  begins  to  cling  about  its 
irregular  buildings.  One  thinks  of  the  legendary  Three 
Kings,  and  believes  in  them  too ;  of  St.  Ursula  and  her 
company  of  virgins;  of  Marie  de  Medicis  dying  alone 
in  that  tumble  down  house  in  the  Sterngasse;  of  Rubens, 
who,  it  is  said,  here  first  saw  the  light  of  this  world;  cf 
an  angry  Satan  flinging  his  Teufelstein  from  the  Seven 
Mountains  in  an  impotent  attempt  to  destroy  the  Dom  ; 
and  gradually  the  indestructible,  romantic  spell  of  the 
Rhine  steals  into  the  spirit  of  common  things  that  were 
unlovely  by  day,  and  makes  the  old  city  beautiful  under 
the  sacred  glory  of  the  stars. 

Alwyn  dined  at  his  hotel,  and  then,  finding  it  still  too 
early  to  retire  to  rest,  strolled  slowly  across  the  Platz, 
looking  up  at  the  sublime  God's  temple  above  him,  the 
stately  cathedral  with  its  wondrously  delicate  carvings 
and  flying  buttresses,  on  which  the  meonlight  glittered 
like  little  points  of  pale  flame.  He  knew  it  of  old.  Many 
and  many  a  time  had  he  taken  train  from  Bonn  for  the 


sole  pleasure  of  spending  an  hour  in  gazing  on  that 
'splendid  "sermon  in  stone,"  one  of  the  grandest  testi 
monies  in  the  world  of  man's  instinctive  desire  to  ac- 
knowledge and  honor  by  his  noblest  design  and  work 
the  unseen  but  felt  majesty  of  the  Creator.  He  had  a 
great  longing  to  enter  it  now,  and  ascended  the  steps 
with  that  intention  ;  but,  much  to  his  vexation,  the 
doors  were  shut.  He  walked  from  the  side  to  the  prin- 
cipal entrance — that  superb  western  frontage,  which  is 
so  cruelly  blocked  in  by  a  dwarfish  street  of  the  com- 
monest shops  and  meanest  houses — and  found  that  also 
closed  against  him.  Disappointed  and  sorry,  he  went 
back  again  to  the  side  of  the  colossal  structure  and  stood 
on  the  top  of  the  steps  close  to  the  central  barred  doors, 
studying  the  sculptured  saints  in  the  niches  and  feeling 
a  sudden,  singular  impression  of  extreme  loneliness — a 
sense  of  being  shut  out,  as  it  were,  from  some  high 
festival  in  which  he  would  gladly  have  taken  part. 

Not  a  cloud  was  in  the  sky;  the  evening  was  one  oi 
most  absolute  calm,  and  a  delicious  warmth  pervaded 
the  air — the  warmth  of  a  fully  declared  and  balmy  spring. 
The  Platz  was  almost  deserted;  only  a  few  persons 
crossed  it  now  and  then,  like  flitting  shadows,  and  some 
where  down  in  one  of  the  opposite  streets  a  long  way  off 
there  was  a  sound  of  men's  voices  singing  a  part-song. 
Presently,  however,  this  distant  music  ceased,  and  a  deep 
silence  followed.  Alwyn  still  remained  in  the  somber 
shade  of  the  cathedral  archway,  arguing  with  himself 
against  the  foolish  and  unaccountable  depression  that 
had  seized  him,  and  watching  the  brilliant  May  moon 
soar  up  higher  and  higher  in  the  heavens,  when  all  at 
once  the  throbbing  murmur  of  the  great  organ  inside  the 
Dom  startled  him  from  pensive  dreaminess  into  swift 
attention.  He  listened;  the  rich  notes  thundered  through 
the  stillness  with  forceful  and  majestic  harmony;  anon, 
weird  tones,  like  the  passionate  lament  of  Sarasate's 
"Zigeunerweisen,"  floated  around  him  and  above  him; 
then  a  silvery  chorus  of  young  voices  broke  forth  in  sol 
emn  unison: 

" Kyrie  Eleison!  Christc  Eleison!  Kyrie  Eleison!" 
A  faint,  cold  tremor  crept  through  his  veins ;  his  hear? 
beat  violently;    again  he  vainly  strove  to  open  the  grear 
door.     Was  there  a  choir  practicing  inside  at  this  hou? 


BY  THE  RHINE  549 

of  the  night?  Surely  not!  Then,  from  whence  had  this 
music  its  origin?  Stooping,  he  bent  his  ear  to  the  crev- 
ice of  the  closed  portal,  but  as  suddenly  as  they  had 
begun  the  harmonies  ceased;  and  all  was  once  more 
profoundly  still. 

Drawing  a  long,  deep  breath,  he  stood  for  a  moment 
amazed  and  lost  in  thought.  These  sounds,  he  felt  sure, 
were  not  of  earth,  but  of  heaven.  They  had  the  same 
ringing  sweetness  as  those  he  had  heard  on  the  "Field 
of  Ardath. "  What  might  they  mean  to  him,  here  and 
now?  Quick  as  a  flash  the  answer  came — DEATH!  God 
had  taken  pity  upon  his  solitary  earth-wanderings,  and 
the  prayers  of  Edris  had  shortened  his  world-exile  and 
probation.  He  was  to  die;  and  that  solemn  singing  was 
the  warning,  or  the  promise,  of  his  approaching  end. 

Yes!  it  must  be  so,  he  decided,  as  with  a  strange  half- 
sad  peace  at  his  heart  he  quietly  descended  the  steps  of 
the  Dom.  He  would  perhaps  be  permitted  to  finish  the 
work  he  was  at  present  doing;  and  then — then  the  poet- 
pen  would  be  laid  aside  forever,  the  chains  would  be  un- 
done, and  he  would  be  set  at  liberty!  Such  was  his 
fixed  idea.  Was  he  glad  of  the  prospect?  he  asked  him- 
self. Yes,  and  no!  For  himself  he  was  glad;  but  in 
these  latter  days  he  had  come  to  understand  the  thou- 
sand wordless  wants  and  aspirations  cf  mankind — wants 
and  aspirations  to  which  only  the  poet  can  give  fitting 
speech.  He  had  begun  to  see  how  much  can  be  done 
to  cheer  and  raise  and  ennoble  the  world  by  even  one 
true,  brave,  earnest,  and  unselfish  worker;  and  he  had 
attained  to  such  a  height  in  sympathetic  comprehension 
of  the  difficulties  and  drawbacks  of  others  that  he  had 
ceased  to  consider  himself  at  all  in  the  question,  either 
with  regard  to  the  present  or  the  immortal  future.  He 
was,  without  knowing  it,  in  the  simple,  unconsciously 
perfect  attitude  of  a  soul  that  is  absolutely  at  one  with 
God,  and  that  thus  in  involuntary  God-likeness  is  only 
happy  in  the  engendering  of  happiness.  He  believed 
that  with  the  divine  help  he  could  do  a  lasting  good 
for  his  fellowmen;  and  to  this  cause  he  was  willing  to 
sacrifice  everything  that  pertained  to  his  own  mere  per- 
sonal advantage.  But  now — now— or  so  he  imagined — 
he  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  pursue  his  labors  of  love; 
his  trial  was  to  end  suddenly;  and  he,  so  long  banished 


550  "ARDATH" 

from  his  higher  heritage,  was  to  be  restored  to  it  without 
delay — restored,  and  drawn  back  to  the  land  of  perfect 
loveliness,  where  Edris,  his  angel,  waited  for  him — his 
saint,  his  queen,  his  bride! 

A  thrill  of  ecstatic  joy  rushed  through  him—  joy  in- 
termingled with  an  almost  supernal  pain;  for  he  had 
not  as  yet  said  enough  to  the  world — the  world  of  many 
afflictions,  the  little  sorrowful  star  covered  with  toiling, 
anxious,  deluded,  God-forgetting  millions,  in  every  unit 
of  which  was  a  spark  of  heavenly  flame,  a  germ  of  the 
spiritual  essence  that  makes  the  angel,  if  only  fostered 
aright. 

Lost  in  a  deep  reverie,  his  footsteps  had  led  him  un- 
consciously to  the  Rhine  bridge.  Paying  the  customary 
fee,  he  walked  about  half-way  across  it,  and  stood  for  a 
while  listening  to  the  incessant  swift  rush  of  the  river 
beneath  him.  Lights  twinkled  from  the  boats  moored 
on  either  side;  the  moon  poured  down  a  wide  shower  of 
white  beams  on  the  rapid  flood.  The  city,  dusky  and 
dream-like,  crowned  with  the  majestic  towers  of  the 
Dom,  looked  picturesquely  calm  and  grand;  it  was  a 
night  of  perfect  beauty  and  wondrous  peace.  And  he 
was  to  die — to  die  and  leave  all  this,  the  present  fair- 
ness of  the  world!  He  was  to  depart  with,  as  he  felt, 
his  message  half  spoken  ;  he  was  to  be  made  eternally 
happy,  while  many  of  the  thousands  he  left  behind  were, 
through  ignorance,  willfully  electing  to  be  eternally  mis- 
erable. '  A  great,  almost  divine  longing  to  save  one — 
only  one  downward-drifting  soul,  possessed  him  ;  and 
the  comprehension  of  Christ's  sacrifice  was  no  longer  a 
mystery.  Yet  he  was  so  certain  that  death,  sudden  and 
speedy,  closely  awaited  him,  that  he  seemed  to  feel  it  in 
the  very  air — not  like  a  coming  chill  of  dread,  but  like 
the  soft  approach  of  some  holy  seraph  bringing  bene- 
diction. It  mattered  little  to  him  that  he  was  actually 
in  the  very  plenitude  of  health  and  strength,  that  per- 
haps in  all  his  life  he  had  never  felt  such  a  keen  de- 
light in  the  physical  perfection  of  his  manhood  as  now; 
death,  without  warning,  and  at  a  touch,  could  smite  down 
the  most  vigorous;  and  to  be  so  smitten,  he  believed, 
was  his  imminent  destiny.  And  while  he  lingered  on 
the  bridge,  fancy- perplexed  between  grief  anl  joy,  a 
small  window  opened  in  a  quaint  house  that  bent  its 


BY  THE   RHINE 


55» 


bulging  gables  crookedly  over  the  gleaming  water,  and 
a  girl  holding  a  small  lamp  looked  out  for  a  moment. 
Her  face,  fresh  and  smiling,  was  fair  to  see  against  the 
background  o~f  dense  shadow.  The  light  she  carried 
flashed  like  a  star,  and  leaning  down  from  tne  lattice 
she  sang  half  timidly,  half  mischievously,  the  first  two 
or  three  bars  of  the  old  song,  "Du,  du,  liegst  mir  im 
Herzen — /"  "Ah!  Gute  Nacht,  Liebchen!"  said  a  man's 
voice  below. 

"Gute  Nacht!    Schlafen  Sie  wohl!" 

A  light  laugh,  and  the  window  closed.  "Good-night! 
Sleep  well!"  love's  best  wish!  and  for  seme  sad  souls 
life's  last  hope — a  "good  night  and  sleep  well!" 

Poor  tired  world,  for  whose  weary  inhabitants  often- 
times the  greatest  blessing  is  sleep!  Good-night!  sleep 
well!  but  the  sleep  implies  waking — waking  to  a  morn- 
ing of  pleasure  or  sorrow,  or  labor  that  is  only  lightened 
by  love.  Love — love  divine,  love  human;  and  sweetest 
love  of  all  for  us,  as  Christ  has  taught,  when  both  di- 
vine and  human  are  mingled  in  one! 

Alwyn,  glancing  up  at  the  clustering  stars  hanging 
like  pendant  fire-jewels  above  him,  thought  of  this  mar- 
vel-glory of  love — this  celestial  visitant,  who,  on  noise- 
less pinions,  comes  flying  divinely  into  the  poorest  homes, 
transfiguring  common  life  with  eternal  radiance,  mak- 
ing toil  easy,  giving  beauty  to  the  plainest  faces  and 
poetry  to  the  dullest  brains — love! — its  tremulous  hand- 
clasp, its  rapturous  kiss,  the  speechless  eloquence  it 
gives  to  gentle  eyes,  the  grace  it  bestows  on  even  the 
smallest  gift  from  lover  to  beloved,  were  such  a  gift  but 
a  handful  of  meadow-blossoms  tied  with  some  silken 
threads  of  hair! 

Not  for  the  poet-creator  of  "Nourhalma"  such  love 
any  more!  Had  he  not  drained  the  cup  of  passion  to 
the  dregs  in  the  far  past,  and  tasted  its  mixed  sweet- 
ness and  bitterness  to  no  purpose  save  self-indulgence? 
All  that  was  over;  and  yet,  as  he  walked  away  from  the 
bridge  back  to  his  hotel  in  the  quiet  moonlight,  he 
thought  what  a  transcendent  thing  love  might  be,  even 
«n  earth,  between  two  whose  spirits  were  spiritually 
ikin,  whose  lives  were  like  two  notes  played  in  tuneful 
concord,  whose  hearts  beat  echoing  faith  and  tenderness 
to  one  another,  and  who  held  their  love  as  a  sacred  bond 


552  "ARDATH" 

of  union,  a  gift  from  God,  not  to  be  despoiled  by  that 
rough  familiarity  which  surely  brings  contempt.  And 
then  before  his  fancy  appeared  to  float  the  radiant  visage 
of  Edris — ;half  child,  half  angel.  He  seemed  to  see  her 
beautiful  eyes — so  pure,  so  clear,  so  unshadowed  by  any 
knowledge  of  sin;  and  the  exquisite  lines  of  a  poet-con- 
temporary whose  work  he  specially  admired  occurred  to 
him  with  singular  suggest! veness: 

"Oh,  thou'lt  confess  that  love  from  man  to  maid 
Is  more  than  kingdoms — more  than  light  and  shade 
In  sky-built  gardens  where  the  minstrels  dwell, 
And  more  than  ransom  from  the  bonds  of  hell. 
Thou  wilt,  I  say,  admit  the  truth  of  this, 
And  half  relent  that,  shrinking  from  a  kiss, 

Thou  didst  consign  me  to  mine  owa  disdain, 
Athwart  the  raptures  of  a  vision'd  bliss. 

I'll  see  no  joy  that  is  not  linked  with  thine, 
No  touch  of  hope,  no  taste  of  holy  wine, 
And  after  death,  no  home  in  any  star 
That  is  not  shared  by  thee,  supreme,  afar, 
As  here  thou'rt  first  and  foremost  of  all  things! 
Glory  is  thine  and  gladness  and  the  wings 

That  wait  on  thought,  when,  in  thy  spirit-sway 
Thou  dost  invest  a  realm  unknown  to  kings'." 

Had  not  she,  Edris,  consigned  him  to  his  "own  dis- 
dain, Athwart  the  raptures  of  a  visioned  bliss"?  Ay! 
truly  and  deservedly!  And  this  disdain  of  himself  had 
now  reached  its  culminating  point — namely,  that  he  did 
not  consider  himself  worthy  of  her  love,  or  worthy  to  do 
aught  than  sink  again  into  far  spaces  of  darkness  and 
perpetually  retrospective  memory,  there  to  explore  the 
uttermostdepths  of  anguish  and  count  up  his  errors  one 
by  one  from  the  very  beginning  of  life,  in  every  separate 
phase  he  had  passed  through,  till  he  had  penitently  striv- 
en his  best  to  atone  for  them  all.  Christ  had  atoned! 
Yes,  but  was  it  not  almost  base  on  his  part  to  shield  him- 
self with  that  divine  light  and  do  nothing  further?  He 
could  not  yet  thoroughly  grasp  the  amazing  truth  that 
one  absolutely  pure  act  of  faith  in  Christ  blots  out  past 
sin  forever;  it  seemed  too  marvelous  and  great  a  boon! 

When  he  retired  to  rest  that  night  he  was  fully  and 
firmly  prepared  to  die.  With  this  expectation  upon  him 
he  was  nevertheless  happy  and  tranquil.  The  line, 
"Glory  is  thine  and  gladness  and  the  wings",  haunted 


IN  THE   CATHEDRAL  553 

him,  and  he  repeated  it  over  again,  without  knowing  why. 
Wings! — the  brilliant  shafts  of  radiance  that  part  angels 
from  mortals — wings  that  after  all  are  not  really  wings, 
but  lambent  rays  of  living  lightning,  of  which  neither 
painter  nor  poet  has  any  true  conception — long,  dazzling 
rays,  such  as  encircled  God's  maiden  Edris  with  an  arch 
of  roseate  effulgence,  so  that  the  very  air  was  sunset- 
colored  in  the  splendor  of  her  presence!  How  if  she 
were  a  wingless  angel — made  woman? 

"Glory  is  thine  and  gladness  and  the  wings!"  And 
with  the  name  of  his  angel-love  upon  his  lips  he  closed 
his  eyes  and  sank  into  a  deep  and  dreamless  slumber. 


CHAPTER    X. 

IN     THE     CATHEDRAL. 

A  BOOMING,  thunderous,  yet  mellow  sound! — a  grand, 
solemn,  sonorous  swing  of  full  and  weighty  rhythm, 
striking  the  air  with  deep,  slowly,  measured  resonance, 
like  the  rolling  of  close  cannon!  Awake,  all  ye  people! 
Awake  to  prayer  and  praise!  for  the  night  is  past  and 
sweet  mDrning  reddens  in  the  east;  another  day  is 
born — a  day  in  which  to  win  God's  grace  and  pardon; 
another  wonder  of  light,  movement,  creation,  beauty,  love! 
awake,  awake!  Be  glad  and  grateful  for  the  present 
joy  of  life — this  life,  dear  harbinger  of  life  to  come! 
Open  your  eyes,  ye  drowsy  mortals,  to  the  divine  blue 
of  the  beneficent  sky,  the  golden  beams  of  the  sun,  the 
color  of  flowers,  the  foliage  of  trees,  the  flash  of  spark- 
ling waters!  Open  your  ears  to  the  singing  of  birds, 
the  whispering  of  winds,  the  gay  ripple  of  children's 
laughter,  the  soft  murmurs  of  home-affection ! — for  all 
these  things  are  freely  bestowed  upon  you  with  each 
breaking  dawn,  and  will  you  offer  unto  God  no  thanks- 
giving? Awake!  Awake!  The  voice  you  have  your- 
selves set  in  your  high  cathedral  towers  reproaches  your 
lack  of  love  with  its  iron  tongue,  and  summons  you  all 
to  worship  Him,  the  ever-glorious,  through  whose  mercy 
alone  you  live! 


554  "ARDATH" 

To  and  fro,  to  and    fro,  gravely   persistent,  sublimely 
eloquent,  the  huge,  sustained,  and  heavy  monotone  went 
thudding  through    the    stillness,  till,    startled  from     his 
profound  sleep  by  such  loud,  lofty,     and   incessant  clan- 
gor, Alwyn  turned  on  his  pillow  and  listened,  half -aroused, 
half-bewildered,    then,     remembering    where  he    was,  he 
understood;  it  was  the  great    bell    of    the  Dom    pealing 
forth  its  first  summons    to    the    earliest    mass.      He    lay 
quiet  for  a  little  while,   dreamily  counting  the  number  of 
reverberations  each  separate  stroke  sent  quivering  on  the 
air;  but  presently,  finding  it   impossible  to    sleep  again, 
he  got  up,  and  drawing  aside  the  curtain,  looked  out    of 
the  window  of  his    room,  which    fronted  on    the    Platz. 
Though  it  was  not  yet  six  o'clock,  the  city  was  all  astir; 
the  Rhinelanders  are  an    early-working    people,  and    to 
see  the  sun  rise  is  not  with  them  a    mere  fiction    of  po- 
esy, but  a   daily    fact.      It    was    one  of    the    loveliest  of 
lovely  spring    mornings ;  the    sky  was    clear    as  a    pale, 
polished  sapphire,  and  every  little  bit    of  delicate    carv- 
ing and  sculpture  on  the  Dom  stood  out  from  its  ground- 
work with  microscopically  beautiful    distinctness.      And 
as  his  gaze  rested  on  the  psrfect    fairness  of  the  day,  a 
strange  and  sudden  sense  of  rapturous    anticipation  pos- 
sessed his  mind  ;  he  felt  as  one    prepared  for  some  high 
and  exquisite  happiness — some  great    and  wondrous  cel- 
ebration   or    feast    of  joy!     The     thoughts    of    death  on 
which  he  had  brooded    so    persistently  during    the    past 
yester-eve  had  fled,  leaving  no  trace  behind  ;  only  a  keen 
and  vigorous  delight  in  life    absorbed  him  now.      It  was 
good  to  be  alive,  even  on  this  present  earth;  it  was  good 
to  see,  to  feel,  to  know;  and  there  was  much  to  be  thank- 
ful for   in  the    mere    capability    of    easy    and    healthful 
breathing. 

Full  of  a  singular  light-heartedness,  he  hummed  a  soft 
tune  to  himself  as  he  moved  about  his  room.  His  desire 
to  view  the  interior  of  the  cathedral  had  not  abated 
with  sleep,  but  rather  augmented  ;  and  he  resolved  to 
visit  it  now,  while  he  had  the  chance  of  beholding  it  in 
all  the  impressive  splendor  of  uncrowned  tranquility. 
For  he  knew  that  by  the  time  he  was  dressed  the  first 
mas-s  would  be  over ;  the  priests  and  people  would  be 
gone,  and  he  would  be  alone  to  enjoy  the  magnificence 
of  the  place  in  full  poet-luxury — the  luxury  of  silenc* 


IN   THE   CATHEDRAL  555 

and  solitude.  He  attired  himself  quickly,  and  with  a 
vaguely  nervous  eagerness.  He  was  in  almost  as  great 
a  hurry  to  enter  the  Dom  as  he  had  been  to  arrive  at 
the  "Field  of  Ardath."  The  same  feverish  impatience 
was  upon  him — impatience  that  he  was  conscious  of, 
yet  could  not  account  for.  His  fancy  busied  itself  with 
a  whole  hos:  of  memories,  and  fragments  of  half-forgot- 
ten love-songs  he  had  written  in  his  youth  came  back 
to  him  without  his  wish  or  will — songs  that  he  instinc- 
tively felt  belonged  to  his  past,  when,  as  "Sah-luma, " 
he  had  won  golden  opinions  in  Al-Kyris;  and  though 
they  were  but  echoes,  they  seemed  this  morning  to  touch 
him  with  half-pleasing,  half-tender  suggestiveness.  Two 
lines,  especially,  from  the  "Idyl  of  Roses"  he  had  penned 
30  iong — ah!  so  very  long  ago,  came  floating  through 
b*"s  brain  like  a  message  sent  from  some  other  world: 

"By  the  pureness  of  love  shall  our  glory  in  loving  increase, 
And  the  roses  of  passion  for  us  are  the  lilies  of  peace." 

The  "lilies  of  peace"  and  the  flowers  of  "Ardath," 
the  "roses  of  passion"  and  the  love  of  Edris — these  were 
all  mingled  almost  unconsciously  in  his  thoughts,  as 
with  an  inexplicable,  happy  sense  of  tremulous  expecta- 
tion— expectation  of  he  knew  not  what — he  went,  walk- 
ing as  one  in  haste,  across  the  broad  Platz,  and  ascended 
the  steps  of  the  cathedral.  But  the  side-entrance  was 
fast  shut,  as  on  the  previous  night.  He  therefore  made 
his  rapid  way  round  to  the  great  western  door.  That 
stood  open;  the  bell  had  long  ago  ceased,  mass  was 
over,  and  all  was  profoundly  still. 

Out  of  the  warm,  sunlit  air  he  stepped  into  the  vast, 
cool,  clear-obscure  white  glory  of  the  stately  shrine. 
With  bared  head  and  noiseless,reverent  feet  he  advanced 
a  little  way  up  the  nave,  and  then  stood  motionless, 
every  artistic  perception  in  him  satisfied,  soothed,  and 
entranced  anew,  as  in  his  student-days,  by  the  tranquil 
grandeur  of  the  scene.  What  majestic  silence,  what 
hallowed  peace!  Hew  jewel-like  the  radiance  of  the 
sun  pouring  through  the  rich  stained  glass  on  those  su- 
perb carved  pillars,  that,  like  petrified  stems  of  forest 
trees,  bear  lightly  up  the  lofty  vaulted  roof  to  that  vast 
height  suggestive  of  a  white  sky  rather  than  stone! 

Moving  on  slowly,  further    toward    the   altar,  he    was 


556  "ARDATTH" 

suddenly  seized  by  an  overpowering  impression — a  mem« 
ory  that  rushed  upon  him  with  a  sort  of  shock,  albeit 
it  was  only  the  memory  of  a  tune.  A  wild  melody, 
haunting  and  passionate,  rang  in  his  ears — the  melod) 
that  Sarasate,  ths  Orpheus  of  Spain,  had  evoked  from 
the  heart  of  his  speaking  violin — the  sobbing  love-lament 
of  the  "Zigeunerweisen,"  the  weird  minor  music  that 
had  so  forcibly  suggested — what?  This  very  place!  these 
snowy  columns,  this  sculptured  sanctity,  this  flashing 
light  of  rose  and  blue  and  amber,  this  wondrous  hush 
of  consecrated  calm!  What  next?  Dear  God!  sweet 
Christ!  what  next?  The  face  of  Edris?  Would  that 
heavenly  countenance  shine  suddenly  through  those  rain- 
bow-colored beams  that  struck  slantwise  down  toward 
him,  and  should  he  presently  hear  her  dulcet  voice 
charming  the  silence  into  deep  ecstasy? 

Overcome  by  a  sensation  that  was  something  like  fear, 
he  stopped  abruptly,  and,  leaning  against  one  of  the 
quaint  old  oaken  benches,  strove  to  control  the  quick, 
excited  throbbing  of  his  heart;  then  gradually,  very 
gradually,  he  becama  conscious  that  he  was  not  alone; 
another  beside  himself  was  in  the  church —another  whom 
it  was  necessary  for  him  to  see. 

He  could  not  tell  how  he  first  grew  to  be  certain  of 
this,  but  he  was  soon  so  completely  possessed  by  the 
idea  that  for  a  moment  he  dared  not  raise  his  eyes  or 
move.  Some  invincible  force  held  him  there  spell-bound, 
yet  trembling  in  every  limb;  and  while  he  thus  waited 
hesitatingly,  the  great  organ  woke  up  in  a  glory  of  tune- 
ful utterance;  wave  after  wave  of  richest  harmony  rolled 
through  the  stately  aisles,  and  " Kyrie  Eleison?  Kyric 
Eleison!"  rang  forth  in  loud,  full,  and  golden-toned 
chorus! 

Lifting  his  head,  he  stared  wonderingly    around  him. 

Not  a  living  creature  was  visible  in  all  the  spacious 
width  and  length  of  the  cathedral!  His  lips  parted; 
he  felt  as  though  he  could  scarcely  breathe;  strong  shud- 
ders ran  through  him,  and  he  was  penetrated  by  a  pleas- 
ing terror  that  was  almost  a  physical  pang — an  agonized 
enhancement,  like  death  or  the  desire  of  love !  Pres- 
ently, mastering  himself  by  a  determined  effort,  he  ad- 
vanced steadily,  with  the  absorbed  air  of  one  who  is 
drawn  along  by  magnetic  power — steadily  and  slowly  uo 


IN  THE  CATHEDRAL  557 

the  nave,  and  as  he  went  the  music  surged  more  tumul- 
tuously  among  the  vaulted  arches;  there  was  a  faint  echo 
afar  off,  as  of  tinkling  crystal  bells;  and  at  each  onward 
step  he  gained  a  new  access  of  courage,  strength,  firm- 
ness, and  untrammeled  ease,  till  every  timorous  doubt 
and  fear  had  fled  away,  and  he  stood  directly  in  front 
of  the  altar-railing,  gazing  at  the  enshrined  cross  and 
seeing  for  the  moment  nothing  save  that  divine  symbol 
alone.  And  still  the  organ  played  and  still  the  voices 
sang.  He  knew  these  sounds  were  not  of  earth,  and  he 
also  knew  that  they  were  intended  to  convey  a  meaning 
to  him;  but  what  meaning? 

All  at  once,  moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  he  turned 
toward  the  right-hand  side  of  the  altar,  where  the  great 
statue  of  St.  Christopher  stands  and  where  one  of  the 
loveliest  windows  in  the  world  gleams  like  a  great  car- 
ven  gem  aloft,  filtering  the  light  through  a  myriad  mar- 
velous shades  of  color;  and  there  he  beheld  kneeling 
on  the  stone  pavement  one  solitary  worshiper — a  girl. 
Her  hands  were  clasped,  and  her  face  was  bent  upon 
them  so  that  her  features  were  not  visible;  but  the  ra- 
diance from  the  window  fell  on  her  uncovered  golden 
hair,  encircling  it  with  the  glistening  splendor  of  a  heav- 
enly nimbus;  and  round  her  slight  devotional  figure  rays 
of  azure  and  rose,  jasper  and  emerald,  flickered  in  wide 
lustrous  patterns,  like  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun  upon 
a  translucent  sea.  How  very  still  she  was! — how  fer- 
vently absorbed  in  prayer! 

Vaguely  startled,  and  thrilled  by  an  electiic,  undefin- 
able  instinct,  Alwyn  went  toward  her  with  hushed  and 
reverential  tread,  his  eyes  dwelling  upon  the  drooping, 
delicate  outline  of  her  form  with  fascinated  and  eager 
attention.  She  was  clad  in  gray — a  soft,  silken,  dove- 
like  gray,  that  clung  about  her  in  picturesque,  daintily 
draped  folds.  He  approached  her  still  more  nearly  and 
then  could  scarcely  refrain  from  a  loud  cry  of  amaze- 
ment. What  flowers  were  those  she  wore  at  her  breast, 
so  white,  so  star-like,  so  suggestive  of  paradise-lilies 
new-gathered?  Were  they  not  the  flowers  of  "Ardath?" 

Dizzy  with  the  sudden  tumult  of  his  own  emotions, 
he  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  her.  She  did  not  stir. 
Was  she  real,  or  a  phantom?  Trembling  violently  he 
touched  her  garment;  it  was  of  tangible,  smooth  texture-* 


558  "ARDATH" 

actual  enough,  if  the  sense  of  touch  could  be  relied 
upon.  In  an  agony  of  excitement  and  suspense,  he  Jost 
all  remembrance  of  time,  place,  or  custom.  Her  be- 
wildering presence  must  be  explained ;  he  must  know 
who  she  was;  he  must  speak  to  her — speak  if  he  died  for 
it! 

"Forgive  me!"  he  whispered  faintly,  scarcely  conscious 
of  his  own  words;  "I  fancy — I  think — we  have  met — • 
before.  May  I — dare  I — ask  your  name?" 

Slowly  she  unclasped  her  gently  folded  hands;  slowly, 
very  slowly,  she  lifted  her  bent  head  and  smiled  at  him. 
Oh,  the  lovely  light  upon  her  face! — oh,  the  angel-glory 
of  those  strange,  sweet  eyes! 

"My  name  is  EDRES, "  she  said;  and  as  the  pure,  bell- 
like  tone  of  her  voice  smote  the  air  with  its  silvery 
sound,  the  mysterious  music  of  the  organ  and  the  invis- 
ible singers  throbbed  away,  away,  into  softer  and  softer 
echoes,  that  died  at  last  tremulously,  and  with  a  sigh 
as  of  farewell,  into  the  deepest  silence. 

"EoRis!"  In  a  trance  of  passionate  awe  and  rapture 
he  caught  her  hand — the  warm,  delicate  hand  that  yield- 
ed to  his  strong  clasp  in  submissive  tenderness.  Pul- 
sations of  terror,  pain,  and  wild  joy,  all  commingled, 
rushed  through  him.  With  adoring,  wistful  gaze  he  scan- 
ned every  feature  of  that  love-smiling  countenance — a 
countenance  no  longer  lustrous  with  heaven's  blinding 
glory,  but  only  most  maiden-like  and  innocently  fair. 
Dazzled,  perplexed,  and  half-afraid,  he  could  not  at  once 
grasp  the  true  comprehension  of  his  ineffable  delight. 
He  had  no  doubt  of  her  identity,  he  knew  her  well;  she 
was  his  own  heart-worshiped  angel,  but  on  what  errand 
had  she  wandered  out  of  Paradise?  Had  she  come  once 
more,  as  on  the  "Field  of  Ardath,"  to  comfort  him  for  a 
brief  space  with  the  beauty  of  her  visible  existence,  or 
did  she  bring  from  heaven  the  warrant  for  his  death? 

"Edris!"  he  said,  as  softly  as  one  may  murmur  a  prayer, 
"Edris,  my  life,  my  love,  speak  to  me  again!  Make  me 
sure  that  I  am  not  dreaming!  Tell  me  where  I  have 
failed  in  my  sworn  faith  since  we  parted — teach  me  how 
I  must  still  further  atone!  Is  this  the  hour  appointed 
for  my  spirit's  ransom?  Has  this  dear  and  sacred  hand 
I  hold  brought  me  my  quittance  of  earth,  and  have  I 
so  SQnn  won  the  privilege  to  die?" 


IN  THE  CATHEDRAL  559 

As  he  spoke  she  rose  and  stood  erect,  with  all  the 
glistening  light  of  the  stained  window  falling  royally 
about  her;  and  he,  obeying  her  mute  gesture,  rose  also 
and  faced  her  in  wondering  ecstasy,  half  expecting  to 
see  her  vanish  suddenly  in  the  sun-rays  that  poured 
through  the  cathedral,  even  as  she  had  vanished  before, 
like  a  white  cloud  absorbed  in  clear  space.  But  no! 
she  remained  quiet  as  a  tame  bird;  her  eyes  met  his 
with  beautiful  trust  and  tenderness,  and  when  she  an- 
swered him  her  low,  sweet  accents  thrilled  to  his  heart 
with  a  pathetic  note  of  human  affection  as  well  as  of 
angelic  sympathy. 

"Theos,  my  beloved,  I  am  all  thine!"  she  said,  a  holy 
rapture  vibrating  through  her  exquisite  voice;  "thine 
now  in  mortal  life  as  in  immortal ;  one  with  thee  in  na- 
ture and  condition  ;  pent  up  in  perishable  clay,  even  as 
thou  art;  subject  to  sorrow,  and  pain,  and  weariness; 
willing  to  share  with  thee  thine  earthly  lot,  ready  to 
take  my  part  in  thy  grief  or  joy!  By  mine  own  choice 
have  I  come  hither — sinless,  yet  not  exempt  from  sin, 
but  safe  in  Christ!  Every  time  thou  hast  renounced  the 
desire  of  thine  own  happiness,  so  much  the  nearer  hast 
thou  drawn  me  to  thee;  every  time  thou  hast  prayed 
God  for  my  peace  rather  than  thine  own,  so  much  the 
closer  has  my  existence  been  linked  with  thine!  And 
now,  O  my  poet,  my  lord,  my  king!  we  are  together  for 
evermore;  together  in  the  brief  present  as  in  the  eternal 
future!  The  solitary  heaven  days  of  Edris  are  past,  and 
her  mission  is  not  death  but  love." 

Oh,  the  transcendent  beauty  of  that  warm  flush  upon 
her  face!  the  splendid  hope,  faith,  and  triumph  of  her 
attitude!  What  strange  miracle  was  here  accomplished ! 
An  angel  had  become  human  for  the  sake  of  love,  even 
as  light  substantiates  itself  in  the  colors  of  flowers;  the 
Eden-lily  had  consented  to  be  gathered;  the  paradise- 
dove  had  fluttered  down  to  earth  !  Breathless,  bewildered, 
lifted  to  a  height  of  transport  beyond  all  words,  Alwyn 
gazed  upon  her  in  entranced,  devout  silence.  The  vast 
cathedral  seemed  to  swing  round  and  round  in  great 
glittering  circles,  and  nothing  was  real,  nothing  stead- 
fast, but  that  slight,  sweet  maiden  in  her  soft,  gray 
robes,  with  the  Ardath  blossoms  gleaming  white  against 
her  breast.  Angel  she  was,  angel  she  ever  would  be.  and 
yet  what  did  she  seem?  Naugb/  hut— 


560  "ARDATH" 

"A  child-like  woman,  wise  and  very  fair, 
Crowned  with  the  garland  of  her  golden  hair!" 

This,  and  no  more;  and  yet  in  this  was  all  earth  and 
all  heaven  comprised!  He  gazed  and  gazed,  overwhelmed 
by  the  amazement  of  his  own  bliss.  He  could  have  gazed 
upon  her  so  in  speechless  ravishment  for  hours,  when, 
with  a  gesture  of  infinite  grace  and  appeal,  she  stretched 
out  her  hands  toward  him. 

"Speak  to  me,  dearest  one!"  she  murmured  wistfully. 
"Tell  me,  am  I  welcome?" 

O  exquisite  humility!   O  beautiful,    maiden-timid  hes- 
itation!    Was   she,    even    she,    God's    angel,  so    far  re 
moved  from  pride  as  to  be    uncertain    of  her    lover's   re 
ception  of  such  a   gift  of    love?     Roused    from  his  half 
swooning  sense  of  wonder,  he  caught  those  gentle  hand* 
and  laid  them  tenderly  against  his  breast.      Tremblingl) 
and  all  devoutly  he  drew  the    lovely  yielding    form  intt 
his  arms,  close  to  his  heart.    With  dazzled  sight  he  gazec. 
down  into  that  pare,  perfect  face,  those  clear    and  holy 
eyes,  shining  like  new-created    stars    beneath    the     sof; 
cloud  of  clustering  fair  hair. 

"Welcome?"  he  echoed  in  a  tone  that  thrilled  with 
passionate  awe  and  ecstasy;  "my  Edris,  my  saint,  my 
queen!  Welcome,  more  welcome  than  the  first  flower 
seen  after  winter  snows;  welcome,  more  welcome  than 
swift  rescue  to  one  in  dire  peril;  welcome,  my  angel, 
into  the  darkness  of  mortal  things  which  haply  so  sweet 
a  presence  shall  make  bright!  O  sacred  innocence  that 
1  am  not  worthy  to  shield!  O  sinless  beauty  that  I  am 
all  unfitted  to  claim  or  possess!  Welcome  to  my  life, 
my  heart,  my  soul !  Welcome,  sweet  trust,  sweet  hope, 
sweet  love,  that,  as  Christ  lives,  I  will  never  wrong, 
betray,  or  resign  again  through  all  the  glory-spaces  of 
far  eternity!" 

As  he  spoke  his  arms  closed  more  surely  about  her, 
his  lips  met  hers;  and  in  the  mingled  human  and  divine 
rapture  of  that  moment  there  came  a  rushing  noise  as 
of  thousands  of  wings  beating  the  air,  followed  by  a 
mighty  wave  of  music,  that  rolled  approachingly  and 
then  departingly  through  and  through  the  cathedral 
arches;  and  a  voice  clear  and  resonant  as  a  silver  clarion 
proclaimed  aloud  : 

"Those  whom  GOD  hath  joined  together  let  no  man 
put  asunder!" 


IN  THE  CATHEDRAL  561 

Then,  with  a  surging,  jubilant  sound,  like  the  sea  in 
a  storm,  the  music  seemed  to  tread  past  in  a  measured 
march  of  stately  harmony;  and  presently  there  was  si- 
lence once  more — the  silence  and  sunshine  of  the  morn- 
ing pouring  through  the  rose- windows  of  the  church  and 
sparkling  on  the  cross  above  the  altar — the  silence  of  a 
love  made  perfect,  of  twin  souls  made  One! 

And  then  Edris  drew  herself  gently  from  her  lover's 
embrace  and  raised  her  head.  Putting  her  hand  confid- 
ingly in  his,  a  lovely  smile  played  on  her  sweetly  parted 
lips. 

"Take  me,  Theos!"  she  said  softly,  "lead  me — into 
the  world!" 


Slowly  the  great  side-doors  of  the  cathedral  swung 
back  on  their  hinges,  and  out  on  the  steps,  in  a  glorious 
blaze  of  sunlight,  came  poet  and  angel  together — the 
one,  a  man  in  the  full  prime  of  splendid  and  vigorous 
rnanhood;  the  other,  a  maiden,  timid  and  sweet,  robed 
in  gray  attire,  with  a  posy  of  white  flowers  at  her  throat — 
a  simple  girl,  and  most  distinctly  human.  The  fresh, 
pure  color  reddened  in  her  cheeks,  the  soft  spring-tide 
wind  fanned  her  gold  hair,  and  the  sunbeams  seemed 
to  dance  about  her  in  a  bright  revel  of  amaze  and  curi- 
osity. Her  lustrous  eyes  dwelt  on  the  busy  Platz  below 
with  a  vaguely  compassionated  wonder — a  look  that  sug- 
gested some  far  foreknowledge  of  things  that  at  the  same 
time  were  strangely  unfamiliar.  Hand  in  hand  with  her 
companion  she  stood,  while  he,  holding  her  fast,  drank 
in  the  pureness  of  her  beauty,  the  love-light  of  her 
glance,  the  holy  radiance  of  her  smile,  till  every  sense 
in  him  was  spiritualized  anew  by  the  passionate  faith  and 
reverence  in  his  heart,  the  marvelous  glory  that  had 
fallen  upon  his  life,  the  nameless  rapture  that  possessed 
his  soul.  To  have  knelt  at  her  feet  and  bowed  his  head 
before  her  in  worshiping  silence  would  have  been  to 
follow  the  strongest  impulse  in  him;  but  she  had  given 
him  a  higher  duty  than  this;  he  was  to  "lead  her" — lead 
her  "into  the  world!" — the  dreary,  dark  world,  so  unfitted 
to  receive  such  brightness!  She  had  oome  to  him  clad 


562  "ARDATH" 

in  all  the  sacred  weakness  of  womanhood;  and  it  was 
his  proud  privilege  to  guard  and  shelter  her  from  evil — 
from  the  evil  in  others,  but  chiefly  from  the  evil  in  him- 
self. No  taint  must  touch  that  spotless  life  with  which 
God  had  entrusted  him!  Sorrow  might  come,  nay,  must 
come,  since  so  long  as  humanity  errs,  so  long  must  an- 
gels grieve — sorrow,  but  not  sin !  A  grand,  awed  sense 
of  responsibility  rilled  nim — a  responsibility  that  he  ac- 
cepted with  passionate  gratitude  and  joy.  He  had  at- 
tained a  vaster  dignity  than  any  king  on  any  throne; 
and  all  the  visible  universe  was  transfigured  into  a  golden 
pageant  of  loveliness  and  light,  fairer  than  the  fabled 
Valley  of  Avilion! 

Yet  still  he  kept  her  close  beside  him  on  the  steps  of 
the  mighty  Dom,  half  longing,  half  hesitating,  to  take 
her  further,  and  ever  and  anon  assailed  by  a  dreamy 
doubt  as  to  whether  she  might  not  even  now  pass  away 
from  him  suddenly  and  swiftly,  as  a  mist  fading  into 
heaven — when  all  at  once  the  sound  of  beating  drums 
and  martial  trumpets  struck  loudly  on  the  quiet  morn- 
ing air.  A  brilliant  regiment  of  mounted  Uhlans  emerged 
from  an  opposite  street  and  cantered  sharply  across  the 
Platz  and  over  the  Rhine-bridge,  with  streaming  pennons, 
burnished  helmets,  and  accoutrements,  glistening  in  a 
long,  compact  line  of  silvery  white,  that  vanished  as 
speedily  as  it  had  appeared,  like  a  winding  flash  of  me- 
teor flame.  Alwyn  drew  a  deep,  quick  breath;  the  sight 
of  those  armed  soldiers  roused  him  to  the  fact  that  he 
was  actually  in  the  turmoil  of  present  daily  events — that 
his  supernal  happiness  was  no  vision,  but  reality — that 
Edris,  his  spirit-love,  was  with  him  in  tangible  human 
guise  of  flesh  and  blood ;  though  how  such  a  mysterious 
marvel  had  been  accomplished  he  knew  no  more  than 
scientists  know  how  the  lovely  life  of  green  leaf  and  per- 
fect flower  can  still  be  existent  in  seeds  that  have  lain 
dormant  and  dry  in  old  tombs  for  thousands  of  years. 
And  as  he  looked  at  her  proudly,  adoringly,  she  raised 
her  beautiful,  innocent,  questioning  eyes  to  his. 

"This  is  a  city,"  she  asked,  "2.  fit"  of  men  who  labor 
for  good  and  serve  each  other?" 

"Alas,  not  so,  my  sweet!"  he  answered,  his  voice 
trembling  with  its  own  infinite  tenderness.  "There  is 
no  city  on  the  sad  earth  where  men  do  not  labor  for  mere 
vanity's  sake,  and  oppose  each,_pjher." 


IN  THE  CATHEDRAL  563 

Her  inquiring  gaze  softened  into  a  celestial  compas- 
sion. 

"Come,  let  us  go!"  she  said  gently.  "We  twain, 
made  one  in  love  and  faith,  must  hasten  to  begin  our 
work !  Darkness  gathers  and  deepens  over  the  sorrow- 
ful star;  but  we,  perchance,  with  Christ's  most  holy 
blessing,  may  help  to  lift  the  shadows  into  light  1" 


Away  in  a  sheltered  mountainous  retreat,  apart  from 
the  louder  clamor  of  the  world,  the  poet  and  his  heav- 
enly companion  dwell  in  peace  together.  Their  love, 
their  wondrous  happiness,  no  mortal  language  can  de- 
fine; for  spiritual  love,  perfected,  as  far  exceeds  mater- 
ial passion  as  the  steadfast  glory  of  the  sun  outshines 
the  flickering  of  an  earthly  taper.  Few,  very  few,  there 
are,  who  recognize  or  who  attain  such  joy;  for  men 
chiefly  occupy  themselves  with  the  semblances  of  things, 
and  therefore  fail  to  grasp  all  high  realities.  Perishable 
beauty,  perishable  fame — these  are  mere  appearances; 
imperishable  worth  is  the  only  positive  and  lasting  good, 
and  in  the  search  for  imperishable  worth  alone  the  seeker 
must  needs  encounter  angels  unawares. 

But  for  those  whose  pleasure  it  is  to  doubt  and  deny 
all  spiritual  life  and  being,  the  history  of  Theos  Alwyn 
can  be  disposed  of  with  much  languid  ease  and  cold 
logic,  as  a  foolish  chimera  scarce  worth  narrating.  Prac- 
tically viewed,  there  is  nothing  wonderful  in  it,  since  it 
can  all  be  traced  to  a  powerful  exertion  of  magnetic 
skill.  Tranced  into  a  dream-bewilderment  by  the  arts 
of  the  mystic  Chaldean  Heliobas,  tricked  into  visiting 
the  "Field  of  Ardath,"  what  more  likely  than  that  a  real 
earth-born  maiden,  trained  to  her  part,  should  have  met 
the  dreamer  there,  and,  with  the  secret  aid  of  the  her- 
mit Elze"ar,  continued  this  strange  delusion?  What 
more  fitting  as  a  sequel  to  the  whole  than  >hat  the  same 
maiden  should  have  been  sent  to  him  aga>n  in  the  great 
Rhine  cathedral,  to  complete  the  deception  and  satisfy 
his  imagination  by  linking  her  life  finally  with  his?  It 
is  a  perfectly  simple  explanation  of  what  some  credulous 
souls  might  be  inclined  to  consider  a  mystery;  and  let 


564  "ARDATH** 

the  dear,  wise,  oracular  people  who  cannot  admit  any 
mystery  in  anything,  and  who  love  to  trace  all  seeming 
miracles  to  clever  imposture,  accept  this  elucidation  by 
all  means.  They  will  be  able  to  fit  every  incident  of  the 
story  into  such  an  hypothesis  with  most  admirable  and 
consecutive  neatness.  Al-Kyris  was  truly  a  vision ;  the 
rest  was — what?  Merely  the  working  of  a  poetic  imag- 
ination under  mesmeric  influence. 

So  be  it!  The  poet  knows  the  truth;  but  what  are 
poets?  Only  the  prophets  and  seers;  only  the  eyes  of 
time,  which  clearly  behold  heaven's  fact  beyond  this 
world's  fable.  Let  them  sing  if  they  choose,  and  we 
will  hear  them  in  our  idle  hours;  we  will  give  them  a  lit- 
tle of  our  grudging  praise,  together  with  much  of  our 
private  practical  contempt  and  misprisal.  So  say  th& 
unthinking  and  foolish;  so  will  they  ever  say;  and  hence* 
it  is  that,  though  the  fame  of  Theos  Alwyn  widens  year 
by  year,  and  his  sweet  clarion-harp  of  song  rings  loud 
warning,  promise,  hope,  and  consolation  above  the  noisy 
tumult  of  the  whirling  age,  people  listen  to  him  merely 
in  vague  wonderment  and  awe,  doubting  his  prophetic 
utterance,  and  loth  to  put  away  their  sin.  But  he,  never 
weary  in  well-doing,  works  on — ever  regardless  of  self, 
caring  nothing  for  fame,  but  giving  all  the  riches  of  his 
thought  for  love.  Clear,  grand,  pure,  and  musical,  his 
writings  fill  the  time  with  hope  and  passionate  faith  and 
courage;  his  inspiration  fails  not,  and  can  never  fail, 
since  Edris  is  his  fount  of  ecstasy.  His  name,  made 
glorious  by  God's  blessing,  shall  never,  as  in  his  perished 
past,  be  again  forgotten. 

And  what  of  Edris?  What  of  the  "flower-crowned  won- 
der" of  the  "Field  of  Ardath,"  strayed  for  a  while  out 
of  her  native  heaven?  Does  the  world  know  her  marvel- 
ous origin?  Perhaps  the  mystic  Heliobas  knows;  per- 
haps even  good  Frank  Villiers  has  hazarded  a  reverent 
guess  at  his  friend's  great  secret;  but,  to  the  uninstructed, 
what  does  she  seem? 

Nothing  but  a  woman,  most  pure  womanly ;  a  wom- 
an whose  influence  on  all  is  strangely  sweet  and  last- 
ing, whose  spirit  overflows  with  tenderest  sympathy  for 
the  many  wants  and  sorrows  of  mankind,  whose  voice 
charms  away  care,  whose  smile  engenders  peace,  whose 
eyes,  lustrous  and  thoughtful,  are  unclouded  by  any 


IN   THE   CATHEDRAL 


565 


shadow  of  sin,  and  on  whose  serene  beauty  the  passing 
of  years  leaves  no  visible  trace.  That  she  is  fair  and  wise, 
joyous,  radiant,  and  holy  is  apparent  to  all;  but  only 
the  poet,  her  lover  and  lord,  her  subject  and  servant, 
can  tell  how  truly  his  Edris  is  not  so  much  sweet  wom- 
an as  most  perfect  angel  —  a  dream  of  heaven  made  hu- 
man! Let  some  of  us  hesitate  ere  we  doubt  the  miracle; 
for  we  are  sleepers  and  dreamers  all,  and  the  hour  is 
close  at  hand  when  we  shall  wake. 


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